


The Prince and the Snake

by YumeUshka



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema is a witch and has -powers-, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Autor took one year of Latin and thinks is neat to throw random Latin phrases, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crisis of Faith, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Feels, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), but not in the regular way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumeUshka/pseuds/YumeUshka
Summary: "Forget it angel, okay? Look, I’m sorr—”"Don’t! No... please,” Aziraphale's voice was half broken and tears were increasingly threatening to burst, “don’t... apologize. Just… give me some time. I... I need to be alone," and he got into the store at an impressive speed.Time. Aziraphale had only asked for time. But Crowley had already given him six thousand years and he was frankly desperate. Finally, a scaly accident caused by a clueless witch will make them face their true feelings.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 164
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [El Príncipe y la Serpiente](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28210338) by [YumeUshka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumeUshka/pseuds/YumeUshka). 



> Hi! This will be my first serious work in years, please bear with me!  
> Also, note that I'm not a native speaker so I'm open to any constructive criticism, it helps me a lot! But please be kind if my vocabulary is the one of a toddler.  
> A big wahoo to [Yvesriba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvesriba), who beta-read this work. Thank you!

After the Non-Apocalypse, things went back to the way they were. Almost exactly the same. And that really pissed off Crowley.

It's not that he wasn't glad that he and Aziraphale practically saved the world. On the contrary, he was very, very happy; especially since he thought Aziraphale would finally reciprocate his feelings. They could have their own happy ending, just like one of those mawkish endings of romantic comedies that he would never admit he enjoyed. After all, they no longer had to worry about the repercussions of their union, neither in Heaven nor in Hell. Crowley was almost certain that their impeccable (and certainly dramatic) performances would free them from unwanted interventions, at least over the next few millennia.

Just after recovering their respective bodies, they went to lunch at the Ritz. They chatted animatedly about everything and nothing, without the stress of constantly having to watch over their shoulders, or pretending that they were only together for convenience, of false appearances and hollow words. Without that burden, laughs and gestures flowed freely, full of feelings. The cautious distance Aziraphale had always maintained, both physically and emotionally, gradually vanished. At least that's what Crowley sensed, or wanted to believe.

"Well, I think this lunch has been quite exquisite," Aziraphale said, still savoring the last piece of tiramisu he had ordered.

"Actually, I wonder if this whole thing of the absolute destruction of our existence has affected your palate, angel," Crowley replied with a little grin. “After all, the prospect of death can make you appreciate things a little more.”

"Ah, is it?” Crowley thought he saw Aziraphale shudder slightly, but it was so fleeting that he didn’t dare to mention it. “Then tell me, what have you ‘appreciated a little more’ in these last few hours?”

“Uh...well…" Crowley hesitated and looked at the empty plate in front of him, looking for an answer in there, even though he already knew the exact answer to that question. He had never felt as relieved and _grateful_ as when he saw the angel, _his_ angel, approaching safely and sound at the entrance of the park where they met that afternoon. “Perhaps I appreciate the taste of this wine even more than before," he continued, grabbing his glass and tapping it lightly. “Maybe it's not even that good. But if I were dead—”

Aziraphale held his own glass of wine and watched it closely. A slight smile formed in the groove of his lips. “—It would be pretty hard to taste _any_ wine if you were dead, don’t you think, dear?” 

"You're just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing," Crowley replied, looking at him affectionately even through his dark glasses.

"And you are, deep down, a good person, Crowley," the tone Aziraphale used was a bit mocking, but his eyes were full of warmth and affection. Crowley had to hold back particularly at the sight of that radiant smile, dedicated to him and only to him. He wanted to fill all that beautiful face with kisses and caresses, but it would be pretty weird if he started there, right?

Instead, he raised his glass.

"I propose a toast," Crowley said, raising his voice a little to put out the slight tremor insisting on escaping his throat. “To the bastards.”

"To good people," Aziraphale complemented.

"And to the world."

"To the world," Aziraphale whispered, with happiness filling his eyes.

* * *

Towards the end of their lunch, Crowley was _captivated_ . He had always enjoyed those little smiles and looks that escaped through the corner of Aziraphale's eyes, those that confirmed to him that the angel was his dear friend and that they could even be something _else._ The angel was, in all his extent, _heavenly._ And now, after waiting six thousand years, Crowley finally felt he had a chance. With that in mind, the demon planned his movement.

Crowley offered to take him to his bookshop. Aziraphale had been very insistent that, although he fully trusted Crowley on the status of his books, he wanted to see firsthand that everything was _fine._ And so, in a few minutes (because the habit of driving at dangerous speed limits through central London was almost inherent to the demon), they were already in front of the shop. Crowley parked more carefully than usual and shut down the engine. Outside, the sunset took over the atmosphere, with the light rapidly decreasing with every minute and the night lamps beginning to shine.

“This brings back memories," Crowley said in a whisper, as Aziraphale was about to get out of the car.

"Mhm? Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Aziraphale asked, turning to see him with his hand perched on the handle.

"I said this brings back memories," he replied, with a heavy sigh and his gaze fixed on the steering wheel. “From all the times we’ve been here, in these same spots. We were always chasing something, running from something, pushing and pulling for Heaven or Hell…” He continued, with a smirk on his lips. “And now everything has changed, but you're still here, with me. We're here, angel. We did it. That... that's what I really appreciate right now.” He took off his dark glasses and looked him straight in his eyes, trying to express everything he felt with his gaze.

Aziraphale was frankly surprised, staring at him for several seconds and with the slightest concern crossing his eyes. In the end, he just smiled and said, "Of course, my dear, we did it. And that's what matters.”

This time, Aziraphale was going to get out of the car and Crowley, who had been so determined to confess his love a few moments ago, was panicking now that he _really_ had to. With an explosive movement, he grabbed him by the hand and felt a tremble under his skin, but Aziraphale didn’t try to turn away. Instead, he stared at him, with a distressed expression. Crowley didn’t dare to look him in the eyes, so he looked out at their hands one over the other, as he had so often dreamed, and only managed to get more nervous.

"Are you all right, Crowley? Is something wrong?”

“I... I'm serious, angel," words were shaking and running out of his mouth, as if he had just run a marathon. “I... I really appreciate, fuck, I _love_ we're okay, alive. _You_ are well and complete and smiling and being able to see your beautiful blue eyes again," words were accelerating confusingly. Crowley, if he were human, would have run out of breath. “It’s not like they weren't beautiful and blue before but now they look more beautiful and bluer and…”

“Crowley. Slow down. I'm not getting a word of what you're saying,” Aziraphale interrupted him. He extended the other hand to gently take him from his chin and force him to look up.

That simple little gesture seemed to burn Crowley from the inside. Arming himself with courage, he said: "I want to be with you, Aziraphale. I want _us_ to be together from now on. And I want you to want to be with me.”

A pause, and Aziraphale's face reflected an obvious confusion.

“Wh... what do you mean? We’re already together and... we're friends. We're on our own side, remember?” he stuttered slightly.

Crowley was so involved in the moment that he didn't notice the tremor in the angel's voice, nor that the hand he kept imprisoned was trying to get away uncomfortably.

"Yes, yes, of course I do. We're on our side and everything,” Crowley looked away again. He still had Aziraphale's hand tightly held, as if it were a support that would prevent him from fainting there and now. "I mean _together,_ you and I, as _partners_ , not as friends. That's what I want, angel. I _like_ you, “courage was beginning to diminish. Pitifully, there was no turning back now. "I _want_ you _._ I... I...” he took a deep breath, looked him in the eye and "I lov—”

Aziraphale, freeing himself from Crowley’s grip, brought both hands onto Crowley's mouth, preventing him from finishing that sentence. His eyes and mouth were wide open in surprise and his cheeks were completely flushed.

"No!” Aziraphale yelled, raising his voice in almost a cry. His hands clasped so tight that it became painful, so Crowley grabbed him by the arm and tried to push him away without much success, as he said against his palms ‘you're hurting me’.

Realizing this, he immediately moved his hands away and Crowley began to wig his jaw, emitting a whining sound that was actually much more dramatic than it should be.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry. I... I didn't mean to..." Aziraphale raised his hands again in the direction of Crowley's face, but then stopped abruptly with a distressed expression on his face. “I... I... I need some air.”

And he got out of the car so quickly Crowley barely saw his movement. What was he talking about? They didn't need to breathe.

He got out of the car without bothering to close the door, still massaging his jaw. He literally had to _run_ to reach him, grabbing him by the arm just before he could enter the bookshop. But Aziraphale got rid of the grip instantly, with all his body language indicating that he was panicking. _Oh, shit._

"Forget it angel, okay? Look, I’m sorr—”

"Don’t! No... please,” Aziraphale's voice was half broken and tears were increasingly threatening to burst. “Don’t... apologize. This... Crowley... I just…,” he was completely glued to the front door, getting as far away from Crowley as possible, and this hurt him more than anything else. _No, not again, please. Don't do this,_ he thought. "Just… give me some time. I... I need to be alone," and he got into the store at an impressive speed. Crowley heard the door lock, followed by a few hasty steps moving away.

He stood, astonished, still with his arm outstretched towards the closed door, trying to understand what had just happened. Then, a fury began to take over every particle of his being.

“AAAARRGHHHH!” he complained loudly, pushing his hands on both sides of his head. He turned around, headed to his car and got into it, closing both doors with a snap.

"Shit, shit, _shit_ ," he squeezed his head with both hands and sank more and more into the driver's seat. _How could you be so stupid?_ he thought. _S_ _tupid, stupid demon. We just survived an Apocalypse, and the first thing you do is confess? Just like that?_

The anger was against himself. Now he realized it had been very stupid to think that Aziraphale would throw himself into his arms at the first opportunity. _Too fast, too fucking fast, do you ever learn?_

With a frown and a broken heart, Crowley turned on the Bentley and headed to his flat in Mayfair, being particularly reckless and careless in the way he drove.


	2. Chapter 2

After a few hours of getting as drunk as his wine reserve allowed him, he began to process a little better what had happened. Aziraphale had asked him for time, not that he didn’t _want_ to be with him or that he didn’t think of Crowley as _anything_ more than a friend. This thought gave him renewed hope. _Time._ He'd waited long enough, it's true, but he could take it.

The days went on and Crowley lived glued to the phone. Now that he didn't have to do hellish errands he had plenty of free time, but at this point it backfired. He had plenty of time to think and imagine. 

He imagined that Aziraphale would call him and tell him that he also loved him, imagined running to meet him and kissing him, imagined that his love would be reciprocated at last. They would move together, with the small daily things that made life worthwhile, such as waking up in each other's arms, going for a walk or just enjoy each other’s company, where every gesture and caress hid a love as big and powerful as the universe itself.

He also imagined Aziraphale will never call him, never reciprocate, never really love him, even as a friend. He imagined that all those gestures and looks he had treasured so much meant nothing, and that what he said that afternoon, just a day before Armageddon, was what he really felt about Crowley. He remembered all the times the angel had denied knowing him and pushed him away, calling him _the enemy._ Crowley had always assumed that all of this was to maintain appearances, but what if it wasn't?

But he knew that wasn't true, he knew Aziraphale better than anyone else and he would never leave him that way, not after everything they'd been through together. While he wasn't sure Aziraphale loved him as he loved Aziraphale, he was sure they were friends, they were _best_ friends.

But the mind is powerful and every day passed, Crowley sank more and more. Worse, thoughts slowly turned to himself, again. _You're a demon. Even God, who loves everything, despised you._ In an attempt to silence his mind, he drank again. But it didn't do any good. _What makes you think an angel loves you? You don't deserve it, you don't deserve anything._

Thus he spent a month crying, screaming and with a cloudy mind, partly because of alcohol, partly because of how miserable he felt. A few days later he couldn't take it anymore. He needed an answer, whatever it was. So, he found himself circling in Soho, looking down the corner of his eye trying to see something through the windows of the -still closed- bookshop. He had never had a problem not seeing the angel for quite some time, several hundred years, even. But now everything was so different, Crowley _wanted_ to be different this time and what worried him most was if Aziraphale had decided to leave. Every minute he spent in uncertainty was absolute _torture._

He was so involved in his thoughts that, while turning a corner, he collided fully with a person. Such was the impact that the books the person was carrying fell to the ground, along with their glasses.

"Hey, you idiot! Look when you're walking!” The girl screamed without seeing him directly, leaning on the wall next to not lose her balance. “Shit, where are my glasses?” she continued in a grumpy whisper as she crouched down and searched them around the floor.

It took Crowley a few moments to recognize her. She was the girl of the book of prophecies. The witch. _What was her name?_ Crowley thought. _Analphabeta? Anesthesia? Anathema? Yes, that was._ _Anathema, what the hell was she doing there?_

"Anathema?" he asked, as he crouched down to give her her glasses.

Anathema put on her glasses immediately and turned to see him.

“... Crowley? Oh, excuse me. I didn't recognize you.”

"And I don't blame you." Crowley raised his eyebrows in a slightly sarcastic gesture. The diopter those lenses had to have was unimaginable. He reached one of the two fallen books while Anathema picked up the other. It was a heavy, thick-lined book whose title was written with golden letters: ‘ _Alea iacta est’_. It had no author or any other information and he didn’t recognize the title. But he didn't expect to know it though. After all, the bookworm had always been Aziraphale.

"So," Crowley said, as he handed the book over to Anathema, "Why did you come to Soho?”

"Actually, I came for Aziraphale" she replied earnestly, moving away a little.

"How did you know about the bookshop?” Crowley asked, then realized with _who_ he was talking to. “Oh no, don't tell me Agnes is coming, because I swear if we have to stop the Apocalypse _again_ I’m going to—"

"No! No, nothing like that.” She answered quickly, then made a thoughtful grimace. “Well, I don't really know. I'm not sure.”

"What do you mean?” Crowley's voice was angry. Right now, the prospect of having to go through this martyrdom again made the idea of voluntarily bathing in holy water not seem so far-fetched after all.

“Uh... we'd better go in and explain to you both what happened.” she said as she headed towards the front door of the shop only to stumble at the ‘closed’ sign.

“Uhm... Er...” Anathema had momentarily distracted Crowley's mind, moving his self-destructive thoughts away just a little bit, but enough that now he didn't want to disturb Aziraphale. And above all, he didn't want to look desperate, even as desperate as he was. Also, he was terrified of discovering that Aziraphale was gone, that he had abandoned him. He'd rather not have to find out, or at least not with the human present. “Is it very urgent? " But if the matter was indeed something related to a second Apocalypse, Aziraphale should definitely know.

"No, not really.” She answered with a sigh and turned around to face him. “Like I said, I don't know exactly what's going on, but I’m _pretty_ sure it has nothing to do with the Apocalypse. Is Aziraphale busy?”

“He’s... something like that,” his voice broke slightly as he answered, but he hid it as best he could.

“Okay... well... I guess I'll come back another day, then. See you.” She said as she started to leave.

"Wait!” Crowley yelled a little too loud for how close the girl was. “Maybe I can help you with... whatever you need." He didn't think he could be of much help. Even more so because it probably involved something related to the books Anathema brought. But he urgently needed a _distraction_ , something that pushed away the black cloud of thoughts that was growing like a storm inside his head.

" Oh... uh...” Anathema looked surprised and a little… reluctant? Also, why had she specifically come looking for Aziraphale...?

_Oh,_ Crowley thought.

"Look, I get it. Yes, I'm a demon, but I'm not” _I can't believe I'm going to say this,_ “... bad, okay? You saw it, you know, at the airbase.

Crowley didn't know, but Anathema had the ability to _perceive_ people's aura. And Crowley's looked pretty unstable right now, but also extremely _sad._ She remembered when she first saw it in Tadfield, and also remembered the airbase. He was right. His aura had always emitted sadness and was a little chaotic, but it also contained lots and lots of _love._

She kept thinking for a few moments, weighing the pros and cons. Then, she smiled and said “Yes, you're right. Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude." Now, she looked ashamed. “It's just.. All my life I was taught that my destiny was to stop the Antichrist and his entourage, the embodiment of evil on Earth. But then the Antichrist turned out to be... Adam. I guess the idea of a good demon isn't impossible after all.”

Crowley still flinched with being called _good._ He had never considered himself good, not a good angel, not a good demon. And these last few days he was rather considering himself a kind of _failure_. He cleared his throat and continued.

"What do you have?”

"Well, some books came out of nowhere in my house.” Anathema continued, relaxing. “All are the same color and size, and only have Latin titles, without author or date or any other information. They're written in what I think are several ancient languages, I don't recognize most of them. Brought some of them," she said, raising the books in her hands with a gesture, "but there are many more in my house. Could you come with me and take a look at them?

“Uh... of course," he answered, somewhat surprised. Now he was regretting offering his help. It wasn't in his plans to get too far away from the bookshop, in case Aziraphale called him. But it would only be a couple of hours and Anathema looked a little impatient. She seemed like a good person, and had helped stop the Apocalypse after all. In some way, Crowley felt he owed it to her. Besides, he could always use the phone line as a means of transportation. “You came by bus, didn't you? Let's go in my car.”

They both climbed in the Bentley, which was parked a few steps away, and headed to Tadfield. This time, Crowley tried to go at a slightly more decent speed.

"So… why are these books so important?" Crowley didn't feel like talking, but Anathema still looked pretty uncomfortable and the road was long. Besides, with every silence, his mind haunted him.

"Oh... emm... well...” Now Anathema was laughing nervously. _What the fuck is all this about?_ “After the non-end of the world happened, a package arrived. It was a second book of prophecies by Agnes.”

"Wow. I thought you said it had nothing to do with the Apocalypse.”

"The problem is, I don't really know what the book said,"Anathema sighed heavily, and Crowley saw her massaging her neck. “Look, I told you that all my life I spent my time preparing for my destiny, studying, reading, learning spells and enchantments. I never did anything beyond that, didn't go to school or make friends.” She spoke heavily and melancholy. “And after fulfilling that fate, I thought I'd finally be free. I could live my life the way I wanted and not as my ancestor predicted. And now there was Newt, too. It was the first time I'd fallen in love. So when I saw the book, I felt imprisoned again and I…” another heavy sigh, “well…I burned it.”

“.... say that again?” Crowley turned to see her dumbfounded, and he stopped looking at the road. The Bentley could handle itself for a while.

"I know I shouldn't have," her face was distressed. “But at the moment I _felt_ it was the right thing to do, I just couldn't let the rest of my life not belong to me. And while I was doing it, I felt _relieved_.”

Crowley understood that feeling too well. His own freedom was an invaluable treasure.

"All right, I'm not going to judge you," he said with a sigh, looking back at the road. “I think you did what you had to do, and that's it.”

"Oh. Thanks for your understanding.” she responded with a grateful smile. “Anyway, nothing happened at the moment but when I got home, those weird books came up. Now I wonder if it has to do with burning the manuscript. Newt and I have tried to decipher them, but we're not making any progress. That's when I decided to go with Aziraphale. I guess you guys must know a lot of things.”

"Nah, Aziraphale has always been much more studious than I am. And since writing was invented, he hasn't stopped collecting any text put in front of him." he said with a small grin. “But don't worry, I may not read that much, but I speak many languages, even those that are already dead.”

"Yes, it's the impression I've had since the first time I saw you two. When you hit me, remember?” Anathema said, half-joking.

“Er... Yes. Sorry about that.”

"No problem, it was my fault. I should have looked before I crossed the road.” she turned to see Crowley, inquisitive. “An angel and a demon. You’re a peculiar marriage.”

Crowley suddenly stopped. Even with a seatbelt on, Anathema had to hold on tightly to the board to not hit the windshield. She was about to claim him for almost killing her, when she looked at him again. He was breathing heavily (although he didn't need to breathe, at the time he felt he was _drowning_ ), and his hands were holding the steering wheel tightly, trying to suppress the tremor that slowly took hold of him. His face was illegible behind the dark glasses, even more because he had his eyes on the road.

"Hey... is something wrong?" Anathema didn't quite know what to say. She could feel his aura getting darker and darker, turning from sadness to pain to _despair._ She hardly knew him, but he was an immortal demon and that really scared her. Then she remembered the airbase again, when he had saved her. He saved them all. With that, she knew she would be fine. She ventured to touch his shoulder slightly. “Are you ok?”

Crowley remained stoic for a few seconds, and then said, “Marriage? You think we're _married?_

His voice was choppy and his face reflected a painful smile. He didn't mean to. Crowley had never liked to show his feelings to anyone, let alone a human he had seen three times, but it was simply _too_ _much._ He had always thought that he could live through eternity just being friends with Aziraphale, he had convinced himself that a little was better than nothing. As long as his angel gave him those occasional glances and allowed him to see him sometimes every few hundred years, it would be enough. But it was never enough, it would never be.

And now he was so afraid they weren't even friends. And it would all be his fault.

Crowley _broke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Alea iacta est_ : The die has been cast. Passing a point of no return after an event or decision.


	3. Chapter 3

They were in the middle of the road, the great shadows of the trees stretching over the pavement. There were no other cars or people nearby. Only the slight murmur of birds was heard, the occasional squirrel sneaking between the branches, and a sob trying to control itself, failing miserably.

Crowley had cried on rare occasions, only when reality was so cruel and unjust that his spirit broke and his hope abandoned him. It was at those moments he was glad, in some way, to have become a demon. Why, even when humanity was infested with pain and suffering, when Her precious creation died because of great plagues and wars, when innocent people suffered the most appalling calamities, when even children were killed or abandoned just to die pitifully, She never interfered? He didn't understand it, he couldn't understand it. And if it was all part of a plan, of Her plan, then it could be fucked, she and all her entourage of ruined angels. All but one, of course, and now that one angel was the reason for his crying. It all seemed tremendously ridiculous to him.

"Hey," Anathema's voice was the only thing that seemed to contain him right now, so calm and patient. Why she was helping him was a mystery. Perhaps she felt sorry for him, maybe she also felt that she owed him something, maybe she was simply human and in human nature, just as violence exists, there is also kindness and desire to help others. “It’s all right.” Her hand was perched on his shoulder, trying to offer some relief. “You want to go back? I'll understand if you don’t want to help me now, I can go home from here, if you want to be alone." Crowley didn't answer, and Anathema bit her lip." Or… do you want to talk about it?”

Crowley, who had already taken off his glasses, gave her an inquisitive look even with his eyes full of tears. Despite his entire facade, Crowley had had human friendships, a few people who had been fascinating enough to draw his attention. He engaged in long conversations that many times (and with a few drinks on them) ended up being about Aziraphale and how much he loved him. However, he always tried not to get too attached so that their eventual deaths would not affect him so much. Of course, no one had ever heard of his true nature or Aziraphale’s, so the advice they used to give him usually didn’t apply to them. But Anathema knew what they were and didn't seem to care too much. Maybe she could help give the whole thing an outside perspective.

He was also terrified of what his thoughts might formulate if he was left alone again.

"I know we barely know each other," Anathema continued, "but, honestly, you look terrible, man. And I think you really should talk to someone.”

Crowley laughed. He could imagine his countenance wasn’t too graceful at that moment.

"Why did you say that?” He asked, a bit soothed and controlling the tremor in both his voice and the rest of his body.

"What? That you were married?” Crowley nodded. “Because that was the impression you gave me since the very first time I saw you. You talked to each other like you were an old married couple," she continued with a smile. “And then, at the airbase, I could _feel it._ ”

"What do you mean?”

"Part of my training as a witch allows me to see other people's auras, so to speak. I can perceive feelings and emotions, in general.” Anathema explained. “And that time, your auras radiated stress and fear, yes, there was an Apocalypse going on. But above all, your auras were full of love. Love for Earth, love for humanity. And love for each other.”

Crowley's heart leapt, while a small hope began to grow back in his chest. He desperately wanted to believe her and he knew he would cling to that thought like a life preserver in a stormy sea. Yet that little voice that had been in his mind these last few days kept saying: _If he loves you so much, why_ _did he reject you? Why has he rejected you so many times?_

"Look, I don't know what could have happened between you two," she continued, "but I mean it. I don't know how relationships work between you people... entities... whatever you are. But I swear I've never felt a love as strong and powerful as yours. You love him, Crowley,” and then with a reassuring smile, “and he loves you, I'm sure.”

The calm in Anathema's voice helped ease Crowley's insecurities. They were still there, they had always been there, but now they were definitely quieter.

"Thank you, Anathema," Crowley said with a heavy sigh. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”

"It's nothing," Anathema replied cheerfully. "Now, I really need to get to my house. I don't want Newt to worry.”

"Ah. Yes, of course." Crowley wiped the remaining tears on his cheeks and put his glasses back on. Then he set the Bentley in motion. “I'll take you there, and I'll help you with those books.”

"Oh, you don't have to.” Anathema said hastily. “I'm sorry I asked you for help in the first place, seeing how you were feeling.”

"Don't pity me. ‘m fine.” Crowley said, accelerating the car. “It's just that... well... it's a long story like, really fucking long.”

"It seems to me we have time," Anathema replied, looking towards the road. “If you want to tell me.”

Crowley smiled. He had always thought that his story with Aziraphale had so much drama in between that it deserved to be told. And now seemed like the perfect time.

* * *

The night was beginning to settle down when they arrived at Tadfield. Crowley parked gently in front of the porch as he finished telling the tumultuous story, reaching the events that happened just over a month ago. Anathema had had a whole series of colorful reactions along the way: joy, confusion, a little anger and much, very much of tenderness. Crowley was regretting opening his mouth just for that, it was embarrassing. But she encouraged him to continue, no matter how cloying he was becoming. Anathema listened and nodded or shook her head from time to time. She even threw in some scathing commentary, causing Crowley to laugh against his will. He wondered if it was really so easy to talk to her or if he had simply spent so much time keeping all those feelings in his chest that now he let them out, they overflowed like a waterfall rapidly descending from the top of a mountain. It was liberating and helped him see things a little clearer.

"And then he slammed the door in my face. He hasn't called me since.” Crowley ended as he shut down the engine. "Questions?”

Anathema remained silent for a few seconds, processing everything she had just heard. “Six. Thousand. Years. Wow.”

“Yup.”

"God, that has to break some world records.”

"Ugh, don't mention Her now, will you?" he retorted in a nuisance.

Anathema let out an expression of surprise and looked at him stunned. "Wait, are you telling me that God is a woman!?”

Crowley merely rolled his serpentine eyes under his glasses as he got out of the car. "Out. And if you dare to go at me with questions about God or Heaven or some shit like that, I'm out of here." His voice was serious but there was a half smile on his face that assured Anathema he wasn’t angry. Rather, he was a little amused by all that humans had _misunderstood_ about God.

The witch got out of the car, laughing loudly as she searched for the keys in her purse. "I knew it. I knew a man could never be the creator of everything. They're too useless.”

"Now we’re on the same page," he said, with his smile widening. Crowley liked to show up as a woman at times, the clothes were cute and their form made him feel beautiful. But all the stupidity, ill-treatment and even harassment he had to suffer from men quickly exhausted him.

Anathema opened the gate and let him in with a gesture. As they passed through the small garden, a voice called from inside the house.

"Anathema?" A tall man with glasses revealed himself at the front door. She smiled when she saw him and came forward to hug him and give him a quick, but affectionate, kiss.

Crowley stopped and quickly veered his gaze toward the little rose bushes adorning the garden walls. Although he was already relaxed enough, he was still not in a position to see any show of love without his heart clenching in his chest. Anathema noticed his discomfort and let go Newt a little, clearing her throat.

"Newt, I'm sure you remember Crowley.” He turned to them and nodded slightly as a greeting. Newt raised his hand and greeted shyly. “He agreed to come and help us with the book thing.”

"Oh, thank you very much.” Newt said quietly.

"No problem.” Crowley replied, followed by an awkward silence. Newt didn't look like someone of many words.

“Uhhh... come in, please," Anathema said, cutting off the silence as she made room for Crowley to enter the house. “The books are on the table. Can I get you anything? Water, tea, coffee? I also have some whiskey and wine if you feel like it.”

"Tea is fine," Crowley was not very fond of tea, but at the time the most prudent seemed to remain completely sober, especially if he had to read.

"I'll go get it ready." Newt offered. Anathema smiled gratefully at him and the man blushed slightly, then disappeared into the kitchen.

"Okay, let's see what we're working with here," Crowley approached the table to lift one of the books, reading the title aloud. “ _Desiderata._ Ah, we're getting poetic.” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow.

"Now open it," Anathema said with a slight annoyance in her voice, as if she already knew there was nothing poetic in it. Crowley opened the book in a random page and before him were a series of meaningless words, speeches and symbols, mixing Latin, Sumerian and Hebrew in unintelligble ways.

"What the fuck is this?” He exclaimed, trying to decipher something among all the tangle of languages. “Whoever wrote it must have been drowned in alcohol.”

Anathema merely sighed. “Don't even try. I tried to translate the first page and only got something about some cow eggs and a headache.”

Crowley closed the book. Then he took another one whose title was _Festina lente_ and opened it. The same chaos, only this time it was in Cornic, Greek and Manes. He closed the book and massaged his temple. This would be a lot harder than he thought. 

"Since the only readable thing is the titles, I think we should start there," Crowley suggested, looking at book towers with titles like _Mutatis mutandis, Primus inter pares_ and _Ab aeterno._

“Yes, I feel the same way. I've already sorted them alphabetically and tried to find some connection or pattern, but I haven't achieved anything.” She leaned forward and began to search through the books. “There is one that seems a little more consistent, but I searched for language references online and only found information related to apocryphal codices and ancient cults. That's when I decided to go get Aziraphale.” Finally, he pulled out a book from under one of the piles and handed it to Crowley. When he took it, it caused a slight tingling in his fingers, but he didn’t give it importance.

" _Ut_ _supra sic_ _infra_ ," he read aloud.

"It seems to me that it is a paraphrase of one of the phrases in Tabula Smaragdina," Anathema continued as an exclamation in the kitchen indicated that Newt was finishing the tea preparations. “ _Quod est inferius est sicut quod est superius, et quod est superius est sicut quod est inferius, ad perpetranda miracula rei unius._ And those symbols look like something an alchemist would draw.”

"I've heard about the Tabula Smaragdina, it became kinda popular after Newton's translation.”

“Did you meet Isaac Newton?" This time it was the surprised voice of Newt, who was approaching with a tray of teacups.

"I saw him twice. Too much math.” Crowley replied as he opened the book. And then an expression of surprise that must have been comical appeared on his face. “Uh... I think we’ll need Aziraphale after all.”

"Why? What does it say?” Anathema said excitedly, approaching Crowley's side so she could see what was in the book.

"This is the language of the angels," Newt also came over to sneak around. “I barely remember it now and I don't think I can pronounce it.” Crowley put a finger on one of the lines to guide himself and said something that sounded like "ashbejlp xku", then his tongue began to burn painfully. He dropped the book and took one of the cups Newt brought to drink its contents in one blow, trying to soothe the burning.

Anathema caught the book before it fell to the ground and looked at Crowley, "Are you all right?" Crowley nodded behind the cup and sighed at the end.

"Shit, that _hurts._ "

Anathema turned away a little and looked at the open book, focusing on the part Crowley had read. She took a deep breath and imitated what Crowley had said, trying to make sense of it. But, of course, it didn’t. If what he was saying was true, there was no way she or any other human could understand that book.

A crash and a scream distracted her. She looked up to find a black snake of about sixteen feet, wrapped in itself on a pile of black clothes. Her eyes opened in surprise and she stared at it for several seconds. Then he turned to Newt, who had turned away at a cautious distance and didn’t take his eyes off it either. The snake emitted a hiss that sounded pretty angry.

“... Crowley? It's you?” The girl approached slowly, a little scared. A head arose from the sea of black scales. Now she could see the bright red stomach and the golden eyes. The snake nodded. “Are you ok?” Crowley stood still for a moment, then shook his head.

Anathema turned to see Newt with a worried expression, the man just shrugged, scared, and said “It… it happened when you said that last thing. Crowley suddenly disappeared and when I turned down there was the snake.”

"Oh no," she looked back at Crowley, "was it me? What happened?”

Crowley stared at her and hissed, then hid his head again between his scales. _Shit, shit, shit,_ Crowley thought. He didn't know what was going on and he didn't have access to his powers. Nor could he speak or return to his human form. Besides, his temperature dropped rapidly and he felt like he was freezing.

"I don't think he can talk," Newt said, approaching carefully.

Anathema sighed heavily and ventured to raise a hand and touch the scales “Hey... Crowley,” and felt a glacial cold under her hand. Quickly the snake-reptile-cold blood ratio clicked on her mind. Oh, no. “Newt, light the fireplace. Quick!" Newt didn't quite understand what was going on, but he obeyed without a squeak. Crowley visibly relaxed and began to crawl to the living room, following Newt's hasty footsteps.

The girl let another sigh escape and followed them to the room. There, he lowered some cushions and a blanket from the sofa, making a sort of bed on the floor in front of the fireplace. Meanwhile, Newt finished lighting the fire and Crowley settled into the makeshift bed, sinking under the blanket.

"All right, now what?” Newt exclaimed.

"I have no fucking idea," Anathema replied. _What are you supposed to do when you turn an ancient demon into a snake that doesn't talk?_ she thought.

And then, as if it were an answer to her prayer, _Revolution_ from The Beatles began to sound. Crowley instinctively turned to the dining room, so that's where Anathema returned, following the music to the pile of clothes on the side of the table. She sighed and pulled out a cell phone, reading on the screen ‘Aziraphale. Incoming call.’

"It's Aziraphale," she announced. Crowley shot himself at her trying to stop her, but she had already answered.

"No, no. You go back to the fireplace," Anathema said with the phone in her ear, returning to the room as Crowley tried to coil and climb up one of her legs.

“Uh... Sorry. I must have got the wrong number," said a nervous voice on the other side.

"No, wait!” She said with a whining. “Crowley, stop. You're going to make me fall.” Newt approached and tried to pull the demon back into the blanket.

"…Crowley?”

"Sorry," Anathema replied, finally making it out. “I'm Anathema. I think... we have a problem here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Desiderata_ : Things desired (plural of _desideratum_ ). It's also the title of a poem written by Max Ehrmann in the early 20's.  
>  _Festina lente_ : Hurry slowly. It encourages proceeding quickly, but calmly and cautiously.  
>  _Mutatis mutandis_ : After changing what needed to be changed or, in other words, having changed what needs to be changed.  
>  _Primus inter pares_ : First among equals.  
>  _Ab aeterno_ : From the eternal.  
>  _Ut supra sic infra_ : As above so below.  
>  _Quod est inferius est sicut quod est superius, et quod est superius est sicut quod est inferius, ad perpetranda miracula rei unius._ : 'That which is below is like that which is above, and that which is above is like that which is below, to do the miracle of one only thing'
> 
> Next chapter will be Aziraphale's POV!  
> PS: It might delay one or two days more, but I hope to have it in time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's POV  
> WARNING: This chapter is dark. I'ts nothing particularly violent and no one gets physically harmed, but it involves fear, dark visions and emotional crisis. Please let me know if you think I have to add more warning tags for this chapter!

_ We did it, we did it, we did it _ , it was the only thing that repeated in his head. And yet it didn't feel real.

By the time they reached the Ritz, the adrenaline of the moment had already dropped and Aziraphale was now extremely happy, like floating in the clouds. It was a new day, a new dawn, and everything was  _ alive. _ The trees rose loud and leafy, the birds sang in harmony, people laughed, cried and cursed and Crowley - _ oh Crowley _ \- still had such a characteristic smile adorning his face. Everything was just as he remembered it.  _ Perfect,  _ he thought,  _ everything is perfect now. _

And then reality hit him in the face.

Aziraphale didn't know when he began to love Crowley. He'd always liked his company, even when he had a hard time accepting it. He had something, something that was  _ attractive,  _ to name the sensation in some way. At first he thought it was  _ temptation _ , he was a demon after all. But, as time went on (and watching how hard Crowley struggled to  _ not  _ get his job done ), Aziraphale assumed that he simply had what humans would call  _ charm. _

He also observed other things about the demon, things that left him in a marvel and terrified at the same time. Like on that occasion, in Noah's era, when he put several dozen children in the Ark.  _ If they die now, they will be innocent and go to Heaven. By saving them I am ensuring that they grow up so that their hearts will be filled with evil _ , he justified himself, while he was making a straw bed to cradle the babies.  _ Besides, I'm going against Her will, because I'm evil. _ Or the other time, near Pompei, when he knocked on Aziraphale's door with many severe burns covering his body, having to stay under his care for several days.  _ I had a problem with _ a _ co-worker,  _ he said. Later, Aziraphale would know that he was diverting the lava as long as possible, preventing thousands of people from getting trapped under it.

Or all the other times Crowley healed the ill during pandemics, healed the wounded in wars, or simply tried to make the lives of humans around him a little less harsh. The few malevolent actions he performed were simple discomforts that might well have occurred to a little boy with too much free time. To Aziraphale, these acts rather made him laugh, but it was not a mocking laugh, but a loving and tender laugh that contained an affection that grew on each occasion. Over the years, Crowley ran out of excuses and simply acted in silence, with the occasional sweet and kind gesture reserved especially for the children. Aziraphale never questioned it.

That's when Aziraphale started noticing it. Chance encounters became more and more frequent, and every time he had some serious problem, Crowley was always ‘casually in the area’, saving his ass on more than one occasion. In addition, he always agreed to accompany him to all kinds of restaurants, even though he never ate anything. Thus, Aziraphale found himself _yearning_ for each one of their encounters. He found it comforting to know that he had someone to chat with and felt a little less alone on silent nights, when his only companions were books and several flickering candles.

It was right on those particularly dark nights when  _ fear  _ invaded him. Crowley was kind, intelligent, skillful, creative, wise, understanding, beautiful, good and so,  _ so _ different from everything a demon should be.  _ He's a demon, he's the enemy, he's evil, he's setting you up. You must avoid it, you must fight it, you must flee, _ he repeated as a mantra, trying to take doubt away from his mind. Aziraphale was an angel, angels should not doubt, much less question, they should only follow God's orders, because that was the good, the right, the true. Crowley's existence and everything around it was not possible under that assumption. And yet there he was, always with a half grin and a sarcastic comment at the right time. If things were like this, what did he really know?

Aziraphale had been conceived to  _ believe,  _ all his existence was built under that simple fact. For this reason, he worked earnestly to keep  _ believing  _ everyday, in the Plan, in the angels, in the greater good. The way the world was built was perfect and there was a good reason behind all the horrors he witnessed every day. But always, deep down in his heart, he also believed in Crowley, trusted Crowley,  _ loved _ Crowley. He hated himself for that.

Then the Apocalypse came. The Great Plan was shit, nothing good came from the angels and God didn’t answer.

Everything Aziraphale believed, everything he represented, everything he defended, crashed. Everything but one thing: Crowley. Crowley was still there, he’d  _ always _ been there. And somehow the world didn't end.  _ Perfect,  _ he thought,  _ everything is perfect now. _

And then, something else broke.

“ _...that's what I want, angel. I want you._ _I lov...,_ ” and Aziraphale could not stand it.

There had always been feelings in the angel's heart. Feelings an angel isn't supposed to have. Pain, anguish, sadness, fear. Pain for the cruel world around him, anguish for not being able to believe in God and in himself, sadness for not being able to do more than they commanded him, fear that they would discover the arrangement he had made with Crowley, fear of the consequences he would have, fear of what they would do to them, fear of  _ losing _ Crowley for that. Now, a new and unknown feeling was coming up and was dragging him to the brink of despair:  _ uncertainty. _ Now there was no plan, nothing to tell him what to do or how to act, nothing to illuminate the dark path that stood imposing in front of them.

It was terrifying, and he ran away. He ran away from the world, from the future, from Crowley. And once he was safe in his own little world that was the bookshop, surrounded by those inert objects that would now be his only company, Aziraphale cried. He had never cried, neither on the darkest nights nor on the brightest days, had never a tear come out of his ever-crystalline eyes. All those emotions accumulated and repressed so deeply within his being were sprouting between screams, sobs and tremors. And he cried for good things, for bad things, for sad things, for joyful things, for silly things, for serious things. He was crying simply because it had been 6,000 years and he had never cried before. And because for those 6,000 years he'd been so  _ wrong. _

He wept for days and nights until his soul had been emptied and exhaustion dragged him into the world of dreams. And he dreamed.

In the dream, he was alone in the dark, but he wasn’t afraid. It was a peaceful and quiet darkness, as on those occasions, in Rome, when he was completely submerged in the calm of the Mediterranean Sea under the moonlight. He enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded by the slight pressure of the warm water, gently hugging his entire body. It reminded him of his Mother, the Mother of everything, and the moment he was created. Completely surrounded by light and love, born to bring that same light and love to those adorable creatures called humans, who were beautiful because they were God's creation. And everything that God created was beautiful in his eyes.

In the dream there was no light, but there was love. As big and vast as the one that first time, but there was something  _ different _ . He felt a presence, someone else filling the dark space around him. Aziraphale spread his hands and widened his eyes, trying to perceive who was there, with him. Then, he stopped, understanding filling his being and a smile of utter happiness growing on his face.

_ Crowley, it's Crowley _ , he thought, so familiar with the love that surrounded him, as if it had always been there. And so it was, because from their very first meeting, Crowley had loved him. Loved that angel, who was so confused and worried about a sword and some humans, right at the top of that great wall. Aziraphale had never understood it, but now it didn't matter. It no longer mattered trying to understand or comprehend what had led them to where they were at that moment. The only thing that mattered now was being together, as it should be, as it always should have been.

So Aziraphale kept moving and searching, swimming through the darkness, until he spotted some hair as red as fire itself, vibrating like a lighthouse that inevitably drew him to it.  _ Crowley, oh Crowley. I'm here. I’m already here. I have reached you. At last we are together. At last we will be together _ . He was getting closer and closer, already distinguishing their shape, their back, their arms, their legs. He was about to cry with joy when he finally reached their shoulder and wanted to see their face.

"Crowley," he said, like an echo. And a pair of wings as black as the surrounding darkness sprang from their back. And a pain, as great and vast as the love that had been right there just a few moments ago, invaded him.

The pain was so deep that his knees gave out, forcing him to drop to the floor and close his eyes for a moment, trying to stop whatever was causing all this. Then he realized that the pain was of a particular kind. It was hot and it was suffocating him. He opened his eyes and the darkness was now light, light from flames. Everything was burning around him, crushing him and undoing him. Crowley, however, was still standing, their figure now facing him. He started to look up slowly, because he had to make sure Crowley was okay, that Crowley wasn't suffering like he was.

When he got to the face he found not Crowley, but himself in a cruel reflection. The black wings were not Crowley's either, graceful and gorgeous as night itself. These wings were broken and burned, with terrible holes in those spaces where before had been golden eyes that resembled the light of the sun, now dragging him like a bottomless void. Aziraphale wanted to scream, wanted to run, wanted to escape. But he could do nothing more than stare at that hideous vision looming before him.

After what seemed like an eternity, the gaze of his reflection, which had been staring straight ahead, began to slowly lower until their eyes met his own. And the pristine blue had evaporated, leaving in its place hollow pits that reflected unspeakable horror. Then, the vision opened their mouth and uttered a scream so shrill, so agonizing, so filled with pain and despair, that Aziraphale awoke.

He awoke, shivering, sweating and with one hand clutching his chest. A dream, it had only been a dream.

But the pain remained. Aziraphale could feel loud beats throbbing in his ears and a tightness so strong in his chest that barely let him move. His sight was cloudy and his body was covered in cold sweat.  _ It's a nightmare, it's a nightmare _ , he repeated to himself as he painfully got up from the chair where he had fallen asleep and crawled towards a particular corner of the bookshop. Once there, he moved several stacks of books with difficulty, not caring that they fell to the floor with a crash or the pages of some were bent when colliding with each other.  _ It's a nightmare, it's a nightmare _ , in his mind there was no room for another thought. He kept moving and pulling until a blanket appeared, originally white but now tarnished and tinged with moisture and time. He mustered all his remaining strength and tugged the blanket, revealing an exquisitely decorated oval mirror. And the mirror reflected him as he was at that moment: his swollen and reddened blue eyes, his impossibly white hair stuck to the sides of his head because of the sweat, his lips quivering and dry after so many rough breaths. He was dressed in his trademark soft-toned suit and his tartan bow tie dug into his neck every time he swallowed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing courage from deep within him. A little pause, a ragged sigh. And Aziraphale spread his wings as he looked up at his reflection. White wings with golden sparkles stretched out behind him, pristine, magnificent,  _ heavenly _ , as they always had been. He dared to take a step further, exposing his true angelic form and filling the shop with divine light. There were still the eyes, there were still the multiple wings, there was still Grace, there was still Her.

He slowly returned to his human form, the tightness in his chest giving way, until he was back on his knees in front of the mirror. There was no longer any kind of physical pain, but the emotional distress remained, as it always had. Silent tears began to fall down his cheeks as he continued to stare at his reflection.

“Why? Why? Why?” his lips repeated in a low, monotonous whisper.  _ Why is the world so cruel? Why are your servants so mean? Why didn't you answer? Why, despite all the sins I have committed, I have not yet Fallen? _ Aziraphale had too many questions, some had always been, some were quite new. And even though he knew he would never get answers even if he shouted, he was so afraid of even thinking too loud. Because he was an angel and angels don't ask. Angels  _ believe _ . And those who did not believe, well, you just have to see what happened to Crowley.

_ Crowley. _

Aziraphale looked up at the skylight and before him a particularly starry London sky stretched out endlessly.

"The stars are beautiful," he said in a whisper.  _ Almost as beautiful as Crowley,  _ he thought, finishing his initial idea. Aziraphale knew that Crowley had made the stars not because Crowley had told him, but because every time he looked up and saw them adorning the night cloak, he could sense him in them, he could sense his love, his goodness, his beauty. They were a gift to the universe, a gift so magnificent and splendid that few things could compare.

And then another doubt attacked his mind:  _ Why, if he is so good, is he no longer in your Grace? Why didn't you protect him? Why did you let him Fall? _

Aziraphale was still terrified and the vision of his dream darkened his mind. He didn’t know what would happen in the future, he didn’t know what would happen to him if he accepted the feelings he had for Crowley, he didn’t know if today or tomorrow or in another six thousand years he would finally have to give an account to God. All he knew was that abandoning Crowley was not an option. Because Crowley was his guiding star, and without him, Aziraphale knew he couldn't go on living.

So he got up, wiped his tears away and strode to his phone, where he dialed a number he already knew by heart.

One ring, two rings and...

“No, no. You go back to the fireplace.” Aziraphale wasn't expecting anything in particular, but a high-pitched, whiny female voice to be the first thing he heard when he dialed Crowley's number was definitely not on his list.

"Uh... sorry. I must have got the wrong number,” he said nervously, ashamed after the revelation he'd just experienced.

“No, wait!” The girl sounded downright annoyed, panting like she was fighting someone. “Crowley, stop. You're going to make me fall.”

“…Crowley?”

“I'm sorry. I’m Anathema. I think... we have a problem here.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, very, very sorry for the delay. I came back to school a week ago and, well, everything is a mess.  
> And second, you may notice I've added one more chapter for the end of the story. The next one will be the last, I promise.

Anathema opened the front door and stepped out into the garden, preventing Crowley from crawling over her. She continued talking to Aziraphale on the phone, briefly explaining the situation.

"That's very strange," Aziraphale said thoughtfully, once Anathema had finished recounting what had happened. “Could you repeat exactly the words you said?”

"At this point, I'm afraid to say it and have my garden on fire or something like that," Anathema replied, as she lightly bit her nails.

"I understand, dear girl." A pause, then "And ... how is Crowley?”

Anathema turned to the house, looking out the window to see that Crowley had given up fighting Newt and now he was poking his little head over the couch, staring at her as he flicked out his little tongue. Anathema imagined that he was silently cursing her in every language he knew.

"He's okay… I think" she replied, turning her back on him and continuing the conversation. “I mean, he can't speak so I couldn't be sure of anything, but it doesn't seem like he is hurt or in pain. He looks like an average python, only larger and a lot angrier. If looks could kill, I would be smelly goo on the floor by now,” she finished, as she took another quick look at the window only to see that Crowley was still in exactly the same position.

There was a sound halfway between a snort and a giggle from the other side of the line. "Don't worry about yourself. Crowley wouldn't do anything to you. At least nothing particularly painful,” he continued in a slightly amused tone. “In any case, it may be best for you to wash your socks by hand, at least for the next several months. One of them will likely disappear if you put them in the washing machine.”

"Ah, you seem to know him very well, don't you?" Anathema said, a smile forming on her face and already determined to act as a cupid among that pair.

"Uhm ... I ... uh ..." Aziraphale tried to answer something coherent, but his emotions were still very close and nothing good would come out of his mouth if he kept talking, so he chose to keep silent as he fidgeted nervously with the phone cord.

"Look, I'll be honest with you," Anathema continued with a heavy sigh. Now that she was listening more closely, it was tremendously evident to him the affection mixed with sadness hidden in each of Aziraphale's words when he spoke of Crowley. She shuddered just imagining that level of _pining_ for so many centuries. No, no, that would end here and now. “Crowley told me what happened between you. In fact, he told me everything that has happened between you since you met. Very broadly, of course.”

A terrible blush began to take over Aziraphale's face, thanking her for talking on the phone and not in person. Otherwise, he would surely discover that an angel can be discorporated out of sheer shame. "… Oh… he… did he do that?" he asked, unable to even be angry that an unfamiliar human knew of something so intimate.

"Yes, he did," Anathema said firmly. Then a feeling of guilt began to sting her. “Uh ... maybe that was my fault too. He had a kind of _crisis_ while we were coming here.” She took a moment to analyze what she had just said, and the guilt grew to gigantic levels as her cheeks began to gain color. “And maybe I shouldn't tell you that either. Sorry, please don't tell Crowley what I told you,” she finished hastily, biting her nails again.

"...It’s fine," Aziraphale replied, relaxing a bit. “I'm glad Crowley has someone to talk about… that.”

"Okay," Anathema said, then continued speaking. She had already screwed up, at least she would make it worth it. “Listen, I know we're not even close, but I know you love Crowley as much as he loves you. He is suffering from it and I think you are too. Don't you think that, after everything you've been through, you _deserve_ to be together?”

"It's ... a little more complicated than that." Aziraphale's throat tightened as he spoke. He didn't want to cry anymore.

"Life is complicated. _Love_ is even more complicated. But here we are, aren't we? Living and loving, because it's worth it.

 _It’s worth it_. Anathema's words echoed in Aziraphale's mind, leaving him speechless for a moment.

"I'll take your silence as a yes," Anathema continued. “Anyway, you should come as soon as you can. I'm really worried that I did something bad to him.”

“Uh… yes. I'll… take a taxi right now,” he replied quietly.

“Thank you.” And she hung up.

* * *

Aziraphale still stood holding the phone in his ear for a few seconds. Then, he slowly lowered the receiver to hang it up, his hands barely moving, his chest filling with air until there was no more room, finally releasing it in a long breath as he closed his eyes.

His mind began to wander through memories of him, memories of a long life, as long as the Earth itself. He revived, for just a few moments, the emotions that accompanied those memories: fascination, boredom, anger, sadness, happiness, _love_. It had been a good life. It _is_ a good life. And it was because, in all those centuries, he was never alone, because he had the great joy of having Crowley by his side.

A smile formed on his face as he slowly opened his eyes. _It's worth it,_ he thought. _No matter what happens, it's worth it_. He looked back up at the night sky and, perhaps, a little beyond.

"Forgive me," he murmured, as a silent tear slid down his cheek. Then he hurriedly walked to the front door and out onto the street. The breeze and cold hit his face immediately, making him shiver under the sensation. It was like waking up, like being reborn.

He took the first taxi that passed.

* * *

Crowley was _angry_. Not exactly at Anathema, he knew it had been an accident, but not being able to speak or give an opinion made him feel so helpless that he wanted to scream. Unfortunately, he couldn't do it at the time, so he chose to stare at the one primarily responsible for all of this as she ran away with _his_ phone and spoke to _his_ Angel without even letting him hear what she would say.

After a few minutes, Anathema went back inside, leaving the phone on the front table and walking towards the living room.

"First of all, I'm sorry." Anathema looked really embarrassed and nervous; she didn't even look up from the floor. Crowley decided it was punishment enough for the moment, so he looked away from her and relaxed on the couch. Anathema noticed the movement and sighed heavily. “Aziraphale can surely fix it. He said he would take a taxi so he'll be here in a couple hours I guess.”

Crowley curled up as much as he could in the corner of the couch, as if wanting to disappear. Although he enjoyed this form and adopted it from time to time, especially to sunbathe on the rooftop of his apartment, Aziraphale had not seen him like this since Eden. _You were a snake_ , he had said on Golgotha, with a rawness in his voice. Crowley knew that the only reason Aziraphale rejected him was because he was a demon. Things would be so different if he was still an angel, or even a human. Now he was feeling his whole body screaming ‘Hey, look at me! I'm a demon!’ and that would be the first thing Aziraphale would see after his last conversation.

 _Great, now he won't even want to look at you_ , he thought as he watched the logs in the fireplace burn away and the hope Anathema had given him was slowly fading. He already knew what came after that: bitter thoughts, regrets, and self-recriminations. But Crowley was tired, too tired even for that. It had been an emotional day and it was ending in the worst possible way. He needed a break badly, so he decided to stop consciously existing for a moment and fell asleep.

* * *

Aziraphale arrived at Anathema's house shortly before midnight. All the way he was silent, his mind wandering between memories and the landscape that was seen through the window. He was in front of the gate now, where he had time to close his eyes for an instant. He was still a nervous wreck, but at least he felt brave enough to face whatever that was waiting for him as he walked through that door. Finally, he opened his eyes and, with a heavy sigh, rang the bell.

No one answered immediately and the house was in darkness. Aziraphale frowned and tried to sense some presence within the house. And yes, there were three presences, all earthly. There was nothing demonic, nothing to indicate that Crowley was there, safe. This made him worry and he rang the bell again, more insistently this time.

He was about to buse a miracle to unlock the door when a light came on. A few seconds later the front door was opened by a tall young man in glasses. The man quickened his pace to let Aziraphale enter.

"Sorry, we fell asleep," Newt said, by way of greeting. His glasses were askew and his hair looked a bit wild.

"Don't worry," Aziraphale said, his expression relaxing knowing that nothing bad had happened. “You must be Newt, right?”

"Yes," he replied, as he opened the gate and stepped aside to let him pass. “Anathema and Crowley are still asleep in the living room. They both seem to be heavy sleepers.”

"Oh, don't even tell me. Crowley once slept for almost 50 years, during the fourteenth century,” he said, great affection and amusement in his voice. Then a little more serious. “I don't blame him, they weren’t good times.”

Newt looked at him with a small smirk, not quite sure what to say. Finally, he decided not to add anything else and said, "Please come in."

Aziraphale nodded and entered the house silently. The first thing he noticed was all the stacked books that spanned the table to one side of him. He felt a faint vibe coming from them, but nothing particularly extraordinary. He looked to the other side to see Anathema sleeping on a couch, her arms relaxed and giving a barely perceptible snort with every exhale from her. On her lap rested a beautiful black snake, his little head barely peeking through the scales and his golden eyes wide but relaxed, indicating that he was still asleep.

He noticed that the fireplace was off and guessed that Crowley, in an attempt to seek warmth, had crawled onto the girl's lap. Unconsciously, of course. He would never do something like that being in his five senses. Aziraphale was so touched by this scene that he made a sound halfway between a snort and a choking noise. With that, Crowley stirred and raised his head, staring at Aziraphale for a millisecond and then hurtling down from the couch, waking (and scaring) Anathema in the process.

"What the f...?" Anathema began to say as she adjusted her glasses and caught a glimpse of a tail disappearing under her. She let out an annoyed sigh and then looked straight ahead, noticing the newcomer's presence. “Oh. Hi. Sorry, the heat makes me all sleepy.” Then, a big yawn as she got up and stretched.

"No problem," Aziraphale replied with a smile. He was relieved to see that everything was in order. Relatively. He crouched down a bit, trying to see under the couch. “Uhm… Crowley?” There was no answer. “Could you come out for a moment, please?”

Crowley couldn't help hissing anxiously. He hadn't planned on falling asleep that long and now Aziraphale was already there. _What do I do? What do I do?_ Crowley thought nervously. How should he act after that last time he saw him? He wanted to believe Anathema's words. He wanted to believe that, if Aziraphale was there, it was because he cared about him, because he _liked_ him, at least. But he felt so insecure this way, his mind imagining that he would see him with distaste, that he would reject him again, reminding him, in the worst possible way, that Crowley didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve anything. He was in complete denial and he was getting smaller and smaller, wanting to run away, wanting to disappear.

"Crowley, come here please. I…I would very much like to see you.”

And that was enough to break the vicious circle that was forming in his thoughts. He took courage from somewhere and dared to poke his head.

"Oh, there you are," Aziraphale said, a smile so big and affection filling his eyes that Crowley almost melted right there. He had always wanted him to look at him that way and now that he finally got it he felt that he could die of love.

Aziraphale was _amazed_. He walked over to the couch and reached down, offering his hand to lift him off the floor. Crowley seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he began to crawl up his arm slowly, crawling up to his neck and meeting his eyes on the other side. Aziraphale had always thought that his particular liking for reptiles was due to that little glimpse he had had of Crowley's true form in Eden and now he confirmed it. He was _exquisite_ , with those shiny black scales, that vibrant red belly, and that pair of precious golden eyes that looked at him curiously. _Gorgeous. The most beautiful creature in the universe_ , he thought.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," he said, unable to contain himself, as he held Crowley as close as he could, embracing him. Crowley lost what little control he had left and simply pressed further against Aziraphale. He smiled tenderly, feeling all the love coming from that long body, understanding what Crowley meant by that: _I missed you too, Angel._

His little intimate moment was interrupted by an awkward cough from Newt. Aziraphale turned to and managed to see how a tender smile faded from Anathema's face and she proceeded to give Newt an undisguised stomp.

"Sweetheart, could you go make some more tea?" she said to him, with a strange grin that indicated ‘I'll explain later.’ Newt just nodded and disappeared behind the kitchen wall.

Aziraphale laughed and shook his head gently. Then, he returned his attention to Crowley and frowned, noticing a small detail.

"Weren't you bigger?" He said, holding Crowley higher, as if measuring him with his arms.

“Bigger? He’s the biggest snake I have ever seen!” Anathema exclaimed.

“Oh dear girl. You are talking about _The Serpent_ that tempted Eve. Crowley is way _bigger_ than this, of course.” Aziraphale replied proudly. Anathema let out an amused snort and Crowley turned to see him annoyed. In another context, Crowley would have been grateful those exact words had come from the Angel's mouth. Right now, he was only embarrassing him, all the more so because Aziraphale didn't understand the double meaning of what he had just said.

"Anyway, I don't think this is the time to know how 'big' Crowley is," Anathema giggled. “Here, this is the source of all the trouble.” She handed him a thick book with the words _Ut supra sic infra_ on the cover. Aziraphale grabbed it and started flipping through it, leaving room for Crowley to see it too.

"So it was true. This is the language of the angels," Aziraphale said as he turned the pages. “This tome seems to be a copy from a particularly old text. Babylonian times, based on the context described in it. Basically, it is a manual on how to control and counter a demon.” Crowley looked up at him, concerned. “Oh, don't worry, surely there must be a way to get you back.”

Then he addressed Anathema. "Could you tell me exactly the part you recited?"

Anathema approached doubtfully while she murmured ‘I didn’t recite anything’, and she searched the page and then pointed to the exact phrase.

“Oh well. Now that makes sense," Aziraphale continued, "this reduces a demon to its animal part. It reads that this form becomes harmless to whoever fights it.” Crowley hissed his annoyance. Even in this form he could fight anyone (or so he liked to think). Aziraphale just rolled his eyes but inwardly, he was glad. Now it made sense that he didn't feel Crowley's power. At this moment, he was not much different from an ordinary snake.

"But it can be fixed, right?" Anathema asked nervously.

“Yes, yes. It should be a little further on. If not, I'm sure I have some reversal spells in the bookshop,” he replied, continuing to leaf through the book. “This is very powerful magic, it should not be within the reach of mortals.”

"I told you, these books just showed up. I had nothing to do with it.”

“And I believe you. I really do. But you will have to be careful until we find out who is behind all this,” he added in a serious tone.

Anathema swallowed hard and nodded.

"But first, let's fix this noodle." Crowley glared at him at the nickname ‘noodle’. Aziraphale chuckled and placed the book on the table, searching for the counter-spell. He found the solution a little further, reading quickly and then frowning. “It says that the spell will cease to have the effect when the demon no longer poses a threat.”

"That doesn't make sense," Anathema replied, "it was a complete accident. There is no threat.”

Aziraphale continued to skim through the pages, searching for something that might help them, but finding nothing of use. Finally, he closed the book defeated, while Crowley looked at him curiously. "It's okay my dear, I promise we will find a way to return you to your body."

Crowley believed and fully trusted Aziraphale. He was so strong and powerful and intelligent that, even if there was nothing in the books that could help him, he would find a way to return him to his human form. He was calm. Because of that and because he was greatly enjoying the _closeness_ he had with Aziraphale right now. Never, not in his wildest dreams, had he imagined that he would hold him with such attention and delicacy as he was doing at that moment. It made him feel cared for. And if being this close to his Angel meant remaining a snake for some time, well, it was a price he could pay.

Still, it was exasperating not being able to speak. Because if there was one thing Crowley really hated, it was keeping his mouth shut.

"You should kiss him. Maybe it will work.” Newt's voice broke through as he carried a tray with a kettle and three cups. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other for an instant and looked away immediately. Aziraphale's face was completely flushed and, if it had been possible, Crowley's would have been as well.

"Newt!" Anathema exclaimed. Those two were obviously dying to kiss, but given the circumstances it seemed a bit hasty.

“What? It works in fairy tales,” Newt replied as he shrugged and set the tray on a counter.

"This is not a fairy tale and that is not how holy magic works!" Aziraphale snapped, trying to hide his shame from them. Newt and Anathema stared at him for a moment and then:

"Yeah, you should try it," Anathema said lightly. “After all, this man is a genius," she continued, olympically ignoring the look of outrage on Aziraphale's face and patting Newt's shoulder,"he stopped all those war machines by himself. He has very good ideas, you know?”

"Uhm, actually, I brok..."

"You're not helping, love," Anathema interrupted. “Come on, give it a try.” The sly grin on her face truly puzzled Aziraphale. Suddenly, he remembered what she _knew_ about him and Crowley, and his embarrassment reached stratospheric levels.

"Um… I think we better get going," Aziraphale began as he slowly tried to flee from the situation. “It's late enough and we wouldn't want to abuse your hospitality. I'll be back to check the other books when we've sorted out this… issue.” He gestured at Crowley. “Yes, perfect. Have a lovely night.” And he walked out the door.

Aziraphale practically ran to the gate, his cheeks flushed, with a confused snake coiled around his neck. He stormed out onto the street when a scream interrupted him.

"Hey! Wait!” It was Anathema's voice, coming toward him. “You're forgetting this,” she said, already in front of him and handing him Crowley's clothes and his phone.

"Th... thank you," Aziraphale replied without meeting her eyes, putting the phone in one of the pockets of his coat and taking the clothes.

"I don't know anything about these kinds of relationships," Anathema continued, taking the direct path, "but _this_ ," she pointed to Crowley and Aziraphale, "can't be wrong, because it's _love_. And it is good. And it is great. God is love after all, isn't She?” 

Aziraphale didn't seem to have a good argument against that, so he didn't say anything. For his part, Crowley had already thought of a thousand ways to re-declare himself in the moment but, given the current conditions, he just hissed.

Anathema smiled. There was nothing more to add, really. "Good luck," she said to both of them. “Crowley already has my number, so let me know of any progress,” she said as a goodbye, then re-entered the house.

Aziraphale let out a sigh that he hadn't realized he was holding. He glanced at Crowley, who returned a bright glare, and smiled. _It's worth it_ , he repeated in his mind, _it's worth it._ Then he walked over to the Bentley and opened the driver's door, to which Crowley responded immediately with an alarmed hiss.

“I'm sorry but you need limbs to drive,” he replied as he shoved them into the vehicle and closed the door. “Also, I've seen you drive hundreds of times, it shouldn't be that difficult.”

Crowley let out an outrageous hiss as he twisted himself tightly around Aziraphale, preventing him from moving and laying inexperienced hands on his precious car. Then, knowing that they would get nowhere like that, he set about indicating, by signs, how the vehicle worked.

It wasn't as difficult as he thought. After all, Aziraphale was very clever and they had always understood each other very well, even without using words.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I brought this huge update as a peace offering for my delay, hope you find it tasty.  
> Also, mind that I've updated the rating and the tags (It ended up having smut, after all).  
> Enjoy!

“Are you going to stay there?”

Aziraphale's voice distracted Crowley's thoughts, who was currently curled up in the passenger seat, trying to control the cold he was feeling. It wasn't so much that it could affect him, but he was still shivering. The cold he was feeling was of the emotional kind, mostly. In order to explain to Aziraphale how the car worked, Crowley had to uncurl himself from his neck, pointing to certain buttons and handles with his head and tail. Once they were on their way, he didn’t dare to return to his previous position. Physical closeness was something they were just now experiencing and Crowley would never think of invading Aziraphale's personal space without being expressly invited. Besides, he was still a little traumatized by how Aziraphale had reacted that last time, at the door of the bookshop, running away from Crowley like he couldn’t stand another minute with him. No, no. He wouldn't fuck this up for once.

Crowley raised his gaze to Aziraphale's face, who refused to take his eyes off the road (he turned out to be a very careful driver, to no one’s surprise). His blue eyes reflected the lights of the lamps and his face had a calm expression, with something in the curve of his lips and the rim of his eyes that Crowley couldn't quite understand. He leaned toward him without realizing it, drawn, as always, to his figure. It was then that he became aware of a hand extended in his direction. Touching him.  _ Inviting  _ him.

Aziraphale took a second to look at him, so full of love and tenderness. Just for Crowley. “Come here, dear.” And Crowley couldn't say no to that. He couldn't say no to any request Aziraphale made of him, in fact.

He began to move toward Aziraphale, slowly, carefully, in case Aziraphale got cold feet at the last moment. Again, the insecurities were still there, smaller and less loud, but there. After a few minutes, Crowley's long body was fully rested in Aziraphale's lap, curled into a spiral on his thighs.

Once he had curled up enough to make them both comfortable, Crowley looked up and, to his surprise, Aziraphale had stolen another second to look at him with a wide smile.

“You bloody gorgeous thing," Aziraphale exclaimed, so fondly that Crowley could have filled oceans in his heart. “I don't know why you never showed me you could still be a snake," he continued, returning his gaze to the front. “You are  _ beautiful. _ ”

And that was it, Anathema had killed Crowley with that spell and now he was in Paradise, because those words, that voice and that look couldn't be real. 

But demons don't go to Paradise when they die, do they?

* * *

The rest of the journey was spent almost in silence, much faster and quieter than the way there. They were enjoying the night, the peaceful hum of the engine and each other's company. On the outskirts of London, on an empty road, there was a quietness they had never felt before. It was as if, suddenly, they were the only entities existing in the whole world. As if the only thing they had was each other.

And, in some way, they did. That's how it had always been.

They arrived at the bookshop. There were just a few people passing by and the moonlight was softly combined with the streetlights. They had been there, so many times, looking to the shop through the Bentley's windows and knowing that soon they would have to run, to hide, to look for their next target. But now -- now everything was different. And Crowley could see it. And Aziraphale could see it too, this time. There was no rush, no urgency. They had all the time the world would like to offer them.

Aziraphale parked the Bentley gently and looked down at Crowley, resting a hand on his scales, stroking him absently. “We should hurry. The faster -- the sooner I can hear your voice --," he said, without thinking. Crowley wondered if it was possible to die from an overdose of tenderness.

For Aziraphale, it was easier to talk to Crowley this way, the feelings slipping out of his mouth almost without any restraint. It was quite  _ liberating _ to be able to express himself with the words that had always stayed on the tip of his tongue, never daring to make the leap outward. Now he felt light, hazy. But not too much, not yet. There was one word, just one, that remained firmly anchored in his chest, preventing it from taking off and flying through the clouds. It was a powerful word, a dangerous word. Aziraphale knew that the moment he let it slip away, there would be no turning back.  _ Uncertain, terrifying, run away, run away, run away _ . That little voice in his head wouldn't shut up, a primitive instinct for basic preservation.

Surely, Aziraphale's face began to do something against his will, for those golden eyes glowed with faint concern. Aziraphale shook internally. His priority right now had to be Crowley, he would deal with his own mess later.

He climbed out of the car with Crowley wrapped around his neck and his belongings under his arm. He entered the shop and left Crowley’s clothes on one of the small tables at the entrance, then headed towards the back where there was a sort of half-room where he kept those texts too dangerous to be in human view. On the way, he caught something moving out of the corner of his eye and stopped, turning slightly. He didn’t remember that he had left the mirror uncovered, so the reflection he saw was unexpected. But it wasn't unpleasant; on the contrary, it was amusing to see a huge snake coiled around his neck and arms. Crowley looked like a rambunctious scarf.

Then his gaze wandered to the rest of his person, to his hair even more tousled than usual, to his rosy and slightly puffy cheeks, to his dishevelled and ill-fitting suit, to his dusty and dull shoes. He looked up again and saw Crowley, who was watching him with a curious expression through the mirror.

There was something about the whole situation that didn't quite fit, didn't quite make sense. But Aziraphale couldn't figure out what it was.

Whatever. Crowley, now, concentrate. He continued walking towards the room and picked up some books he thought would be useful for the situation at hand, literally. Crowley's scales were incredibly  _ soft _ to the touch, firm but so smooth that if you laid your hand on them it would almost slide off by itself. Aziraphale was so fascinated by that detail that he didn't want to stop touching them. He didn't want to stop touching Crowley, now that he discovered it was so easy to do. So, he carried the books over to the desk almost one at a time, just so he could keep one hand free to continue  _ petting _ him.

Finally, he finished carrying all the books he needed and sat down on an armchair, already determined to spend the rest of the night reading and re-reading.

Crowley, for his part, was trying to keep up with Aziraphale's reading, but it was extremely difficult due to the natural condition of his eyes (snakes can't read, why should they?) and before long he gave up, turning his concentration to something far more interesting: Aziraphale's hands on his body. So soft, so gentle. Crowley almost wished Aziraphale couldn't find a way to return him to his human form just so he could touch him like that for eternity.

But he was also exhausted, he'd barely slept the last month and the last few hours had been especially draining. Crowley was determined to enjoy every moment he could spend in Aziraphale's arms, but his caresses were so slow and soothing that Crowley slowly began to drift off, nodding off more and more.

As the rays of the morning sun began to peek through the windows, Crowley finally lost the battle against sleep and laid his head on Aziraphale's hand that held the book. Aziraphale felt Crowley's body relax around him and looked to him. Crowley had the same expression as when he had found him at Anathema's house, fast asleep in her lap. Crowley never let his guard down, even with Aziraphale. Always with a façade of coolness, gruffness and style. And now he could see him there, asleep, so cute and soft that anyone could claim he was a sweetheart, incapable of swatting a fly. Aziraphale moved without thinking, lifting his hand and leaning forward slightly, as he closed her eyes to press a kiss to the top of his little head, utterly moved by the scene he had the joy of witnessing.

This slight change of movement woke Crowley suddenly, looking up at Aziraphale just as his lips reached Crowley’s, causing their mouths to meet.

In an instant, Crowley regained his human form and was now on top of Aziraphale.

Naked.

And Aziraphale was kissing him.

_ What? _

Aziraphale opened his eyes and pulled away slightly, meeting Crowley's completely perplexed eyes. Crowley definitely had no idea what was going on and didn't dare move. His mind had gone into some sort of short circuit that only came out of one trance into another when, instead of Aziraphale pushing him or hitting him or Crowley waking up (because this was  _ definitely _ a dream), he felt warm arms embrace him enthusiastically.

“Crowley, you're back!” Aziraphale exclaimed, squeezing him tightly to himself. “Oh, this is good, this is so good!”

“Ngk," was all Crowley's mouth could articulate at that moment.

Aziraphale pulled back so he could see him again, and apparently he could finally see (and feel) the  _ rest _ of Crowley’s body, because his face went from a soft blush to a full on crimson that could have matched Crowley's hair, panic showing in his eyes.

Crowley realized that they had gone from 0 to 100 very fast, too fast, even for him. In one swift movement he stood up and snapped his fingers, dressing immediately before Aziraphale's sight could inspect a little further  _ down. _

They spent several seconds in silence, just looking at each other. Then laughter broke out. And it was a relief. A waterfall down their thirsty throats. That they could laugh together at such a  _ ridiculous _ situation meant that, whatever they had, it was still  _ there _ . Real, alive.

Eventually, the laughter faded, but the feeling of happiness stilled. They were both deeply grateful for that.

“Oh, darling," Aziraphale said, as he stood up and hugged Crowley again, a little less enthusiastically but with the same affection. “I'm so glad to have you back.”

Crowley was only a little surprised, then returned the embrace shyly. “It's good to be back.”

They broke apart after a few moments, still smiling, and allowed themselves to look into each other's eyes long enough to reassure each other. They both looked away before the situation became awkward. Crowley stepped back a little, reaching for his phone.

“I can't believe that stupid plan worked," Crowley said as he picked up his phone and unlocked it. “I'll tell Anathema that her boyfriend was right. And that he should get a job as an oracle. Unbelievable.”

Aziraphale chuckled at that last bit.

“Sometimes the easiest thing is the best thing," he replied cheerfully. “But, come to think of it, it makes sense that it worked.”

“Really? Now all it takes to defeat divine magic is a kiss?” said Crowley with a smirk. “Well, Heaven is damned.”

“No, that's not what I meant," said Aziraphale, unable to contain his laughter. “Those books and spells are meant to be recited by angels, not humans who happen to be able to conjure.”

“Ouch, Anathema will be sad to hear you talk about her powers like that.”

“As I was saying," Aziraphale continued, rolling his eyes fondly, "it was made for angels, but it responds to humans who can use it as well. Though not completely, the spell Anathema recited should have turned you into a real snake. But you could still understand what we were saying and communicate with us, couldn't you?”

“Yup.”

“I think the spell was partially responding to Anathema at that time. Then, the moment a divine presence was detected, the incantation would now obey that presence. That's where I come in.”

Aziraphale paused. Crowley thought he was doing this to add dramatic effect to his explanation, but after a few moments he noticed that Aziraphale was fidgeting nervously with his fingers and his cheeks were flushing slightly pink.

“When I saw you, uhm, sleeping on me," Aziraphale continued as he looked down, pretending to be suddenly interested in raising his waistcoat. Crowley couldn't help but blush just the same and averted his gaze. “I... thought you looked very— cute. And I also thought you were a— sweetheart.” Crowley couldn't help but glance sideways at Aziraphale at that last word, only to see him blush even more.  _ I'm not a sweetheart, I'm a threat _ , he was about to say when Aziraphale continued speaking. “In short, I didn't see you as a threat." Crowley had to swallow his words.

“The spell will cease to have the effect when the demon no longer poses a threat," Crowley repeated, approaching Aziraphale again. “You're a genius, angel. Even when you don't mean to be.”

Aziraphale smiled shyly, but didn't look at him. “Uhm, I think... there's something else. After our last conversation-”

“Er, yeah. About that," Crowley interrupted, scratching his head. “I'm... uh... sorry for dragging you into all this. If you still don't have an answer, if you want more time, I... I can give it to you," he really didn't want to give him more time, but it had been a busy night and he didn't want to rush things. Not again. “Really, just... don't stop talking to me for so long.”

At that, Aziraphale turned to look at him with a confused expression.

“But... it was only for a couple of days...”

“Yeah, yeah. I know a month doesn't seem like a long time," Crowley interrupted him, as he looked back down at his phone, "but we need to keep in touch, in case something happens. I'll get you a mobile so you can text me when you don't want to talk-”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale and stopped his tracks. Aziraphale was pale as a sheet and his lower lip trembled slightly. His gaze was lost and his eyes reflected absolute terror.

_ No, no, no, no. It can't be. _

“...ale.”

A ringing sound was filling Aziraphale's ears and a tremor was invading his body.  _ It couldn't possibly have been a month. That dream only lasted a few minutes. _

“...aphale.”

_ Maybe it wasn't a dream, maybe it was a vision. A warning. _ Panic seized him as he remembered those terrible images in his body.  _ This is bad, very, very bad. Run, run, run... _

“Aziraphale!” A scream and two hands shaking him slightly brought him back to reality. He met a pair of golden eyes, looking at him with concern. The eyes he loved so much, feared so much. He jerked violently away from Crowley and turned his back to him, as if his touch burned him.  _ Run, run, run. _

A pained expression crossed Crowley's face, but he dared not approach again. “Are you... are you ok, Angel? What happ-”

“Go." Aziraphale felt like he was drowning. Choking and burning, in smoke and flames. “Please go.”  _ Run, run away, hide. From him, from Her, from you. _

Aziraphale was waiting to hear footsteps walking away, was waiting to hear a door closing.  _ I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm sorry. I can't, I can't, I can't... _

Familiar warm arms held him in an embrace. And Aziraphale burst into tears.  He thought he would fall back into a dark abyss of uncertainty.  He thought the visions and the flames would start to grow around him again. He thought that, this time, he would not wake up.

But this time he was not alone.

Something, someone, was holding him from somewhere far away. A light in the darkness. A guiding star. And Aziraphale clung with all his might to that sensation, using it to pull himself out of the depths of his own despair.

Slowly, the world around him took shape again and the screeching in his ears dissipated. He began to feel his legs against the floor, to see blurred images through his tears, to hear his own crying. And, through the sobs, there was a soft, warm voice, calling out to him, soothing him.

“It's okay, Angel. It's all right.” One hand stroking his back. Another, around his waist, holding him. “It's going to be alright, I promise.”

Slowly, he stopped shaking, focusing on the voice and those hands to calm himself. He inhaled and exhaled one, two, three times. They were unnecessary and violent breaths, but finally he was able to stop crying so inconsolably. Aziraphale realized that he was on the floor, that they both were. Then he opened his eyes and could see Crowley, cradling and holding him, firm but loving. Crowley pulled away slightly as Aziraphale tried to look at him.

“There you are," Crowley said, with an expression of tenderness and concern.

A tense expression quickly crossed his face, as one of his hands dipped lightly into Aziraphale's back. Aziraphale realized where his own hands were.  _ Oh no _ . Aziraphale's fingernails were buried in Crowley's shoulders and his thumbs were pressing so hard into the skin around the neck that it was starting to look purple. Aziraphale immediately pulled his hands away and felt himself start to tremble again.  _ I hurt you, again. I always hurt you. You, who are so good to me, so gentle. I don't deserve you. I'm bad for you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorr... _

“You don't have to apologize." Crowley's voice interrupted Aziraphale’s thoughts, and then Aziraphale realized that he was speaking aloud this whole time. “I'm way stronger than a few scratches," Crowley said with a smile, never turning away.

Aziraphale didn't know what to do. He felt lost, desolate. So, he surrendered to the only thing he knew to be real at that moment and sank into Crowley.

“Oh, Crowley. I'm so sorry," he said between sobs. “Please forgive me. For this. For... everything.”

“There's not one thing you've ever done wrong in your whole life, Angel," Crowley replied. “Well, maybe that time you said The Velvet Underground was bebop. Unforgivable.”

Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh. Crowley laughed too. “Thank you, dear," Aziraphale said, managing to keep a smile between the tears still rolling down his cheeks, as he looked into his eyes gently.

“For… for what?” Crowley replied, blushing slightly.

“For not listening to me this time, for staying here, for always being here, with me. For everything, thank you.”

“Anything to see your smile," Crowley murmured as he looked down, seeking to hold Aziraphale's hands shyly. Aziraphale didn't reject him and interlaced their fingers, noticing a slight tremor in Crowley's hands, but didn't mention it. “Do you want to talk about, uh, this?” Crowley continued in a whisper.

Aziraphale let out a loud sigh and leaned against Crowley's shoulder. A few seconds passed in silence. Crowley was about to offer to make tea when Aziraphale spoke.

“I'm afraid, Crowley," he said, sinking a little deeper into Crowley. “I'm very, very afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?” Crowley asked, still holding his hands clasped together.

“I'm afraid to even say it out loud," Aziraphale's voice grew smaller and smaller, but he was so close that Crowley heard every word and pant clearly.

“Then show me," Crowley continued hastily, "and we can fight it together.”

_ Together _ . There really was no other way, was there? Two sides of the same coin. A balance, a complement. That was how things worked between them. Since the very Beginning.

Aziraphale gave Crowley's hands one last squeeze, pulling them apart and taking Crowley's face in his hands and bringing their foreheads together. It was a gesture they had done before, that night in Crowley's flat. Being in each other's minds for just a few moments had been very intimate, but not unpleasant. That time, Aziraphale had felt a soft darkness, starlight, and a passion that could feed a thousand suns. That time, Crowley had felt radiant fire, the warmth of life, and the divine love he had thought so long lost enveloped and embraced in him.

This time, the contact would be one-way. And what Aziraphale would show him would be very different. Crowley placed his hands over Aziraphale's and nodded, closing his eyes as Aziraphale did. In an instant, his mind was invaded by six thousand years of memories, able to feel every emotion Aziraphale had felt each of those bitter days and each of those deserted nights. The memories sped up rapidly, as fear and love tinged each one of them more deeply. Until they reached the day after the No-Apocalypse, and the nights that followed.

Aziraphale slowly broke away, gathering his pieces and reassembling himself in the present. He could feel his lower lip tremble slightly and, in his hands, Crowley felt tense and hard. He counted to three and opened his eyes. In front of him, Crowley wore a grief-stricken expression and his eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

“Angel," Crowley said with a sigh, before throwing himself into Aziraphale's arms and embracing him with all his might. “I should have known, I should have realized," he said, sinking into Aziraphale's shoulder. “This is my fault, forgive me.”

Aziraphale was surprised by Crowley's reaction and didn't move for a few moments. Then his hands climbed up Crowley's back, making fists there and drawing him in even further.

“Oh, my dear," Aziraphale said, unable to contain his own weeping. “This is not remotely your fault.”

“But... if it wasn't for me... if I... if I hadn't approached you... if I hadn't spoken to you..."

At that, Aziraphale broke off in one swift movement and looked to Crowley’s eyes intensely.

“Listen to me, and I want you to remember every word," Aziraphale said, suddenly confident. “If you hadn't approached me, if you hadn't spoken to me, if you hadn't been there all these years... Crowley, I would have been  _ lost _ without you. We probably wouldn't even be here now.” A bitter smile crossed his face as he lifted one of his hands to cup Crowley's face. “I don't want you to think, not for a single moment, that I'm sorry I ever met you. You've always been the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Each of Aziraphale's words resonated in Crowley's heart, filling it, healing it. Still, he couldn't help but ask:

“Do you...do you mean it?”

Aziraphale's mouth twisted into an expression of sadness and regret. “I'm the one who should apologize. You've always been good to me. Even when I rejected you, even when I pushed you away, you always came back. So patient, so kind, so sweet.” A short pause. Then Aziraphale leaned forward and gently kissed Crowley's forehead. “The best thing that ever happened to me was you, Crowley. And I mean it.”

Crowley let out a choked sound at the contact and brought his hands to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his tears. But Aziraphale stopped him, taking Crowley's hands between his own again and bringing them to his lips, planting kisses between his fingers.

A breathy sigh escaped Crowley's lips. A sigh he had held in his chest for six thousand years. Raw, urgent,  _ free _ . For the first time, his mind was silent. For the first time, his anxiety did not consume him. For the first time, the only thing in his body was the immense love he felt for Aziraphale.

“Angel," he said to him, soft and affectionate. “I can't answer many questions. I can't guarantee the future. But there is one thing I can tell you that I know to be true.” Crowley gently stroked the backs of Aziraphale's hands with his thumbs. “You will not Fall.”

Aziraphale's heart leapt at the last word and a shiver ran through him from head to toe. His throat knotted and his chest heaved. He felt like he was walking on the edge of a cliff, but Crowley was holding him, holding him....

“How... how do you know?” he said, barely audible.

Crowley smiled sweetly. Now, he brought Aziraphale's hands to his lips and kissed them, just as Aziraphale had done. “I know because there's no reason  _ at all _ for that to happen.” Crowley said, looking up to meet Aziraphale's eyes. “Aziraphale, your only sin and your greatest virtue is, and always has been, to  _ love _ . You love humanity, you love every creature that inhabits this earth, you love Her. Every action, every gesture, every part of your being is filled with love. It is what you are. And if you ask me, you're the only angel who does his damn job," a shy smile came to Aziraphale's lips. “You're not going to Fall. Trust me, I have experience in that.”

And Aziraphale found that he trusted, he  _ believed _ in Crowley. He always had. Something began to bloom in his chest, a seed that had been there, hidden, for quite some time. The flower began to grow, climbing strong and vigorous, seeking the sun above, higher, higher....

“I love you," Aziraphale exclaimed in an exhalation.

The world did not explode.

And Aziraphale did not Fall.

He had released the flower into the world. He had released himself. He could finally lift that heavy anchor in his chest and set sail into the ocean, into the unknown. But this time there was no fear, no panic. For Crowley would be his guiding star from now on.

Aziraphale would not Fall, because Crowley would be there to hold him.

“Oh, Crowley.  _ I love you _ ," the words came fast and desperate out of his mouth, wanting to reach everything that stretched out around him. He wanted to cry and scream for the absolute joy that  _ freedom _ gives him. “I love you, I love you, I lo...

Crowley interrupted him with an eager, needy kiss, so energetic that it caused Aziraphale to fall backwards onto the floor. But Aziraphale didn't complain, instead he hugged Crowley, wanting him close,  _ closer _ ...

“I love you too, angel," Crowley gasped, pulling away for a moment only to kiss him again even more intensely. He dared to lick temptingly at Aziraphale's lips, who accepted the invitation gladly, opening his mouth and allowing Crowley to enter.

Crowley's tongue felt warm and explored passionately every part of his mouth, sending exciting vibrations throughout Aziraphale's body. There was an urgency, a desperation that stretched all the way to his fingertips. Crowley left his mouth and began to leave a trail of wet kisses down his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. Then Crowley moved back up to one ear where he bit down gently, causing Aziraphale to bury his nails into Crowley's lower back. The demon let out an  _ obscene _ sound, right in Aziraphale's ear, who reached under Crowley's shirt, wanting him close,  _ closer _ ... 

“Oh  _ Crowley _ ," Aziraphale sighed, in a pitch that had never come out of his mouth before. Suddenly, he felt Crowley break away in one swift movement as he stood over him. He was about to apologize for whatever it was that provoked such a reaction when he saw something that clouded his mind.

Crowley was staring down at him from above, pupils fully dilated and filled with hunger and  _ desire _ . Crowley licked his lips slowly and placed his hands on the sides of Aziraphale's head. He began to descend upon him, like a hawk circling over its prey. When he was just inches from Aziraphale's face, Crowley opened his mouth, exhaled heavily over his lips and...

“Say my name again," Crowley said in the deepest voice Aziraphale had ever heard him use.

Aziraphale knew what was going on, of course he knew what they were  _ doing _ and where they were  _ going _ . No, that wasn't the point, (having sex had never been a sin. Again, humans misunderstanding everything). The point had to do with a fascinating discovery about his own nature. Aziraphale had always admired (and envied) the  _ passion _ Crowley felt and the ease with which he could express his desires. He liked to think that he wasn't like that, that he didn't have the capacity to  _ feel _ with such intensity. He liked to think he led a common, dull life behind a common, dull wardrobe.

Of course, that was a bunch of pure lies. Aziraphale was such a special angel because he was the only one of his kind that  _ desired _ things. Scrumptious things, pleasant things, earthly things. And, when it came to Crowley, there was a very particular kind of desire. A lovely, deep, carnal one, served on a silver platter as the finest delicacy, and Aziraphale was  _ starving _ .

With the intoxicating sensations and the overflowing passion, Aziraphale knew only two things. Number one: he loved Crowley. Number two: he wanted Crowley to  _ feel  _ loved in every possible way. And, for once, he was free to follow his own desires.

“ _ Crowley _ ," Aziraphale gasped, even deeper, almost a growl. Crowley shifted his hips against Aziraphale's, making delicious contact between their crotches.

“Again," Crowley growled, sliding a hand over Aziraphale's chest and beginning to unbutton his waistcoat.

Aziraphale called Crowley's name over and over, being rewarded each time with passionate kisses and a lunge between his legs, going from mild interest to full erection in a short time.

At some point, Crowley's jacket had disappeared and his tight trousers had been unbuttoned, releasing some of the tension and making the contact much more pleasurable. At some point, the many layers of clothing Aziraphale always insisted on wearing had been opened, exposing his chest to the eager hands and mouth of Crowley, who seemed to have a compelling need to  _ lick _ every available inch of skin (Aziraphale would swear that tongue was  _ magic _ ). At some point, the  _ wanting _ was such that the clothes were beginning to feel like a prison and the place was starting to look rather uncomfortable for the next step. So, as Crowley sensually bit one of Aziraphale's nipples and Aziraphale buried his fingers in Crowley's ass, there was a snapping sound.

Suddenly, they were both perched on a soft, dark bed. Aziraphale immediately recognized that they had just moved into Crowley's flat. He was the one who actually  _ owned _ a bed, after all.

“Is this... is this okay?” Crowley asked with a slight tremor in his voice. All this time, since Aziraphale had uttered  _ those _ words, Crowley's rational mind had gone for a walk, leaving in its place a lovely, absolute  _ lust _ . But, for once, he forced himself to stop and make sure the feeling was mutual. The number of obscene things he wanted to do with the angel was immeasurable, but he only wanted them if Aziraphale would want them too.

“My love," Aziraphale gasped and Crowley's rational mind could fuck itself for the next millennia. Aziraphale raised himself up a little until he was almost leaning against the headboard, then drew Crowley in with one hand on his back and one on the back of his neck, bringing their mouths together again in a passionate kiss. “This is  _ perfect _ .”

Crowley seized the moment to finally undo his shirt, pulling it off over his head and tossing it to the side of the bed. He was already leaning forward to resume the kiss when Aziraphale pushed him, landing gently on his back. In one swift movement, Aziraphale mounted on top of him, grabbing his wrists possessively. Crowley barely had time to process what had just happened when his mind clouded over again.

Aziraphale's eyes, which had always been as clear and luminous as a pond reflecting the sun's rays, were now a deep blue with a  _ very _ different light reflecting in them. And that same gaze lingered along his chest, his arms, his face. There was a past where Aziraphale barely looked at him, barely dared to lay his eyes on him for a few seconds. Now Aziraphale stared at him, openly, seeming to adore every little part of his body. That level of scrutiny was intoxicating. It made him feel wanted,  _ desired _ .

Aziraphale released his grip on Crowley’s wrists and began to gently caress his arms as he leaned down to kiss his neck, slowly moving to his chest and ribs until he reached his navel, where he paused to kiss and lick passionately as his hands lovingly cupped his nipples. Crowley's hands, meanwhile, were hooked into the sheets beneath him and his hips rubbed impatiently against Aziraphale's thigh, causing louder and louder moans to escape his mouth.

“Oh  _ angel _ ," Crowley groaned, writhing beneath Aziraphale. “Please, please,  _ please _ ...”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Aziraphale asked as he looked up at Crowley. He couldn't help but smile lasciviously when he saw Crowley's face. He was completely flushed, his eyes closed tightly as small tears pooled at the edges and his lips were moist and swollen, trembling slightly between each gasp. It was  _ beautiful _ , a poem traced over bold angles and burning skin.

“ _ Touch me _ ," Crowley replied with a sigh.

Aziraphale caught his lips again in a needy kiss and lowered one of his hands to Crowley's crotch, slipping it into his trousers and stroking the erection over the thin fabric of the underwear. Crowley gasped audibly at the touch and thrust his hips forward, wanting to feel more. Aziraphale's arousal was also growing out of control, even more so because he could feel each gasp choking against his mouth.

Crowley reached one of his hands down to touch Aziraphale's member over his clothes while the other tried to pull down his own trousers without much success.

“Fucking... useless piece of..." Crowley said, cursing the day he had decided to wear such ridiculously tight trousers. Aziraphale noticed his predicament and laughed lightly against Crowley's lips. Then he pulled away to help him, sliding the trousers down the length of his long legs.

Instead of kissing him again, Crowley noticed Aziraphale placing his hands underneath his legs. Crowley opened his eyes only to watch as Aziraphale lifted one of his legs and licked up and down the inside of his thigh, still staring at him with that deep gaze.

“You precious,  _ delicious _ being," Aziraphale whispered between wet kisses and little bites between his legs. “You are so good I could eat you…”

“ _ Eat me _ ," Crowley exhaled needily.

Aziraphale smiled against the skin and both hands flew to the waistband of Crowley's underwear, yanking it down and exposing Crowley's wet hardness. Crowley hissed loudly at the pleasurable shock of cold that surrounded him.

“As you wish," Aziraphale said before bending down and licking Crowley's cock from base to tip. Crowley's eyes widened in surprise and his hands gripped on the white curls, pushing and pulling lightly. Aziraphale responded with a moan over the tip, then licked and curled it with his tongue and lips.

“Ah...  _ Az _ ...” Crowley's hips were moving into Aziraphale's mouth, seeking even more contact. Aziraphale was taking his time, licking and kissing slowly as he moaned with pleasure, just as he did when enjoying a particularly delicious dish. Crowley was losing his mind. He needed more and he needed it  _ now _ .

Fortunately for him, Aziraphale seemed to read his thoughts because suddenly, Aziraphale was sucking him into his mouth in one hard, forceful sucking.

“ _ Fuck _ ," Crowley cried out as he buried his fingers in the back of Aziraphale's neck, feeling a surge of pleasure sweep through his body, making him shudder under Aziraphale's mouth. “Ah, yes... Az. It feels so  _ ah _ ... so good.”

Blue eyes looked up at him at the praise, completely darkened with lust. Aziraphale began to rise and fall, slowly at first and then in a steady rhythm. Occasionally he released him to gasp and lick over the tip, sending delicious shivers down his spine. Crowley was reaching his limit quickly, especially by the sight of Aziraphale's face, who had closed his eyes and his face was making expressions of utter pleasure, as if Crowley was  _ exquisite _ on his palate. Never in his wildest dreams could Crowley have imagined that Aziraphale would be capable of such a thing, displaying such an unabashed  _ hunger _ for him that Crowley felt  _ blessed _ .

“ _ Ahh _ ... I'm... I'm co- ming..." Crowley gasped as he tried to pull away, but Aziraphale held his hips and increased the pace. Finally, Crowley could no longer resist and came in Aziraphale's mouth, who swallowed his cum with pleasure. Crowley closed his eyes tightly and a shriek filled his ears, feeling himself leave his body for a moment and see the stars.

The atmosphere in the room was quickly becoming heavy and hot. With the sun rising on the horizon and its rays filtering lazily through the window, Aziraphale had the joy of appreciating every inch of Crowley, from his red hair that was beginning to stick to his forehead from sweat, to his long, slender legs. Even wrapped in dark layers of clothing, Aziraphale had always regarded the demon as a being of enigmatic beauty, unique in his own existence. Now he saw him there, a post-orgasmic mess, stark naked and panting heavily. Crowley was simply a being who, at that moment, was giving himself body and soul to Aziraphale and, again, he was  _ perfect. _

With a snap, he shed the rest of his clothes and turned his full attention back to Crowley.

“Crowley, my beautiful love," Aziraphale said as he leaned down and filled Crowley's warm skin with kisses again, unable to pull away for too long now that he knew what he tasted like, smelled like,  _ felt _ like. “My perfect, gorgeous, magnificent demon," he continued between wet kisses and soft caresses. “Words are not enough for me to describe how  _ stunning _ you are.”

“Kiss me," Crowley demanded. He wasn't good with words, but he could be very expressive with his actions. Aziraphale obeyed immediately and climbed to Crowley's lips, filling their mouths with salt and sweat mixed with heat and need. Crowley took the moment to lower his hand to Aziraphale's crotch, discovering that he had shed his trousers and underwear. Smiling inwardly, Crowley began stroking along the length of the erection, using his deft thumb to massage the tip. Aziraphale stirred and moaned into Crowley's mouth, beginning to thrust the fist around him. 

Now it was Aziraphale who was losing his mind at the immense pleasure he was experiencing. The taste and smell of Crowley filled his being in many ways. But he still wanted more, he wanted to show Crowley how beautiful he was in his eyes, he wanted to show him how much he loved him, he wanted to mend all those years he had spent not admiring every part of Crowley as he deserved. So he lifted Crowley up and straddled him.

“Crowley," he called, caressing Crowley’s back affectionately and looking into his eyes, golden and shining like the most beautiful star. “I  _ love _ you. I have loved you for so long that I can hardly remember a time when I did not. If you let me, I want to repay you for everything you've done for me. I want to  _ take _ you and never, ever let you go again.”

With that, Crowley looked at him deeply. Then he smiled, a smile so full of love and tenderness that Aziraphale had to mirror it on his own face, returning the smile with tears of happiness in his eyes. He felt so, so lucky.

“Aziraphale," Crowley replied, whispering softly. “You don't have to take me, because I have always been  _ yours _ .”

Aziraphale let out a gasp of happiness. He leaned down to fill his face with kisses, brushing them across his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his nose. “And now I am yours.” He said, with a smile that perfectly reflected the love and devotion he felt for Crowley.

They looked at each other for a few moments, appreciating and savouring the other's face. Then Crowley's smile twisted in a sensual way and he took one of Aziraphale's hands and brought it to his lips, where he licked his fingers lasciviously, wetting them thoroughly. Aziraphale understood the signal and brought his fingers down to Crowley's bottom, spreading his buttocks and caressing his entrance. Crowley's dick, which had already begun to show interest again, was fully extended as Aziraphale thrust his index and middle finger inside Crowley.

“Oh,  _ angel _ ," Crowley exclaimed, sinking into Aziraphale's fingers and riding them greedily. The sensation was so pleasurable that Crowley was practically sucking them into himself. Aziraphale was going crazy from the amount of pressure he felt around his fingers, adding one more quickly as Crowley took it with ease, pressing harder and harder against his walls in search of increasing the sensation. At the same time, Crowley was masturbating Aziraphale's erection, which was already leaking pre-seminal fluid with pure anticipation.

Crowley's insides were gaping with eagerness and desire, his asshole rising and falling perfectly on Aziraphale’s fingers. His thighs quivered and spread on either side, wanting more. Aziraphale inserted one last finger and Crowley cried out.

Saliva spilled out of the corner of Aziraphale's mouth, completely dumbfounded and enraptured at the sight and sounds forming in front of him. Crowley's body danced and writhed on top of him.  _ Beautiful _ , Aziraphale thought,  _ the most beautiful creature I had ever had the joy of beholding. _

And there it was again, that strange connection they'd both felt since the first time they'd met. The thing that had kept them in each other's orbit, spinning closer and closer until a collision became inevitable. They were bonded in every possible way except one, and that was a barrier they were about to gladly cross. Aziraphale knew then that Crowley was ready, just as Crowley's hand stopped and he lowered his gaze to cup Aziraphale's face in his hands. A silent nod, a reassuring glance, a final kiss and Crowley lined up towards Aziraphale's hardness, slowly beginning to lower himself down as he held onto his neck as if his life depended on it.

Aziraphale was completely stunned. It felt more than good that there was no room in his mind for anything but absolute  _ pleasure _ that stretched up and down his spine. He was strongly fighting his urges to allow Crowley to go at his pace but, honestly, he was going crazy with every inch of pressure that went down his erection. Finally,  _ finally _ , Aziraphale was all the way in, hot walls surrounding and suffocating him. All this time, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off Crowley's face, especially his eyes, which were widening and dilating with infinite delight. He was about to catch Crowley's mouth again to begin to lunge gently when a totally lascivious grin came over Crowley’s face.

The next thing Aziraphale knew, Crowley seemed to be trying to suck his soul through his prick.

“Is this too fast for you, angel?” Crowley said mockingly as he moaned with complete ease, then leaned down and caught Aziraphale's lower lip, biting and sucking hard, drawing a loud cry of pleasure from that beautiful mouth.

The rush of sensations was mind-blowing. On one side, he had Crowley desperately,  _ wonderfully _ pumping up and down on his ever swelling erection. On the other, Crowley's mouth and tongue were licking, kissing and  _ biting _ everything within reach, sending delicious waves of pain sending Aziraphale's libido through the roof.

“Oh...  _ shit _ ," Aziraphale exclaimed loudly, unable to contain himself or be shocked at his own audacity. This only earned him another bite on a particularly sensitive area of his neck and several nails digging preciously into his back. Aziraphale didn't know what to do with his hands so he placed them on Crowley, one on his back to support him and one on his penis to masturbate him. Crowley arched and hissed at this last touch, closing his eyes momentarily.

Then he opened them, and what Aziraphale saw left him on the verge of absolute ecstasy. Deep gold encompassed his eyes almost completely, his pupils had become such a thin line that it was barely distinguishable. Suddenly, his mouth curved into a large, obscene smile and there were two pairs of thin, sharp  _ fangs _ . Under his touch, he could feel Crowley's already hot skin begin to  _ boil _ with desire, as small black scales appeared on either side of his eyes, on his forehead and shoulders, feeling the texture change on his back as well. Crowley's aura had gone full  _ demonic _ and he felt it scream with pleasure and lust.

And it was beautiful, so damn beautiful it felt like a crime, a blasphemy. But the feeling that came over Aziraphale was completely different from that. When he leaned irrevocably into that hungry mouth, which filled him with that greedy tongue, when he began to lunge even harder, when his fist moved swiftly and nimbly across that prick until the body above him began to tremble with passion... there was only  _ love _ . An absolute, utter, complete, overflowing, wonderful love that consumed them as they both came with gasps and cries and their wings manifested and tightened against each other to merge even more, so hungry, so desirous of each other.

It was at that moment, right at the peak of pleasure, that they caught a small glimpse of their true corporealities. Black and white, soft feathers and smooth scales, bright eyes and deep darkness. Between fine curves and angular lines they met, and both fitted perfectly, as if they had been built for each other.

Finally, they descended back to the earthly plane, collapsing on the bed facing each other and breathing heavily. Their wings were still present, forming a fluffy shell around them. They looked into each other's eyes and laughed, soft and happy.

“Well, that was a thing," Crowley said, still smiling, as his eyes returned to normal and his scales disappeared. Then his eyes focused on the marks he had left across Aziraphale's lips and neck, which were now slightly reddened and swollen. A pang of guilt shot through him, but it faded as he watched the pure  _ satisfaction _ on the angel's face, almost glowing with pleasure. Still, he felt he had to apologize. “Sorry if it was too much. I got... a little carried away.”

Aziraphale simply laughed fondly, moving closer to Crowley and snuggling up to him.

“It's fine, really," then, with a blush and a small smile, he murmured, "Actually... I think I like this new side of you... Yeah, I quite like it.

Crowley wrapped his arms around him and kissed his hair, inhaling the soft scent of oak and rain.

“That's good to know, because you'll have to get used to it," he said, then whispered in Aziraphale's ear in a low, sensual voice. “Don't think you'll escape me now that I've caught you.”

Aziraphale startled slightly at this, but smiled sweetly and pulled away just long enough to give him a tender kiss on the lips.

“Foul fiend," he said affectionately.

“Adorable angel," Crowley replied, mirroring his smile and kissing him again and again.

* * *

Even though it was almost noon, the two remained in bed, unable to tear themselves away from each other now that they had experienced such a level of closeness. They talked lightly, remembering all the times they had wished they could linger a little longer, had wished they could get closer and caress with their fingertips, had wished the words didn't burn and the feelings didn't drown. They were bittersweet memories, with joy and sorrow mingling until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. But there was also an affection, a fondness, because they remembered how they had always had each other, despite everything. And now the future shone with an uncertain but hopeful light.

At some point, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and two mugs full of hot tea appeared. One to soothe Crowley's raspy voice, one for Aziraphale's simple taste. The warmth of the drink, of the bed, and of Aziraphale at his side made Crowley feel satisfied, completely settled. So he began to blink heavily, fighting fatigue, but Aziraphale's soft fingers smoothing his hair were a worthy opponent.

“Crowley?” he called, voice very low and slightly clipped, as if afraid to break the moment.

Crowley stirred slightly, just enough so that he could look up into Aziraphale's face and smile, reassuring him that there was nothing that could damage the bond they now had. Aziraphale blushed slightly and smiled back, unable to contain himself.

“What's wrong, darling?”  _ Darling _ . The 'angel' nickname for Aziraphale had started out as a kind of sarcastic teasing, but it had evolved into the only way Crowley had found to cope with the love growing inside him, releasing a little with each letter so that he didn't have to hold it all in until it exploded. Besides, it was something Aziraphale had no argument against.

But now, now there was a whole range of possibilities by which Crowley could show him how big his feelings for Aziraphale were. And Crowley would take advantage of each and every one of them.

“I want to ask you something," Aziraphale said, cautiously, "but you don't have to answer if you don't want to talk about it. I don't want to put you in an awkward position.”

“’s fine. There's nothing I wouldn't like to talk to you about," Crowley replied calmly. And it was true. They were  _ partners _ now, but Aziraphale was still (and always would be) his best friend. “Go on, spit it out.”

There was a pause, where Aziraphale seemed to fight a small internal battle. At last he sighed resignedly and said: “How... how does it feel to… to be a demon? To be a... a Fallen?

The question definitely took Crowley by surprise, who was suddenly wide awake. It wasn't a  _ bad _ question, nor was it awkward. It was just that Crowley had been expecting it for a long time, so long that he had forgotten all about it. He thought it was a subject that would be of interest to an angel, a piece of information about something unknown that might be useful to him sometime. But Aziraphale never questioned it. On the contrary, it was a subject he fervently avoided. Crowley thought Aziraphale was simply being too kind, not wanting to appear to judge him for his actions.

Now that he knew  _ why _ he never asked, everything took on an entirely different meaning. But Crowley had an answer.

“You really took me off-guard with this one," Crowley said, half-laughing. Aziraphale's face twisted and his mouth opened (probably to apology), so Crowley laced his fingers with Aziraphale's and gave him a smile full of tenderness and assurance again, "but it's okay. In fact, I always thought you'd ask me someday.”

“Re... really?”

“Yeah. You have a curious mind, though you've never wanted to admit it.” Crowley rose a little from where he sat to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek, then settled back so that he was half leaning against the headboard, to be on the same level as Aziraphale as he answered. Those were bittersweet memories too, a little more bitter than sweet really, but Crowley wanted to be completely honest with Aziraphale.

“You've already got some pretty good ideas," Crowley continued, with a sigh. “In your dream, I mean.”

A small "Oh" escaped Aziraphale's lips, and Crowley could feel, beneath his fingers, that he shivered slightly.

“But.” Crowley continued, giving him a squeeze as if to reassure him that all was well. “It wasn't quite like that. Yes, there was a lot of fire and yes, it hurt like, well, like  _ hell _ . Both physically and psychologically. I felt rejected, lost... forsaken.”

“I'm so sorry you went through that," Aziraphale said, looking at Crowley with tear-filled eyes. “You... didn't deserve it.”

“Meh, I can be pretty naughty if I put my mind to it," Crowley said with a wink and a grimace that caused Aziraphale to blush a little. Then his countenance became serious again, without losing the warmth he wanted to convey to Aziraphale with his smile. “What I mean is that there is nothing to be sorry about. I don't regret what I did and, in time, I got used to it, you know? I would never have been happy being an angel, and I'm not saying that being a demon is the best thing, but at least I'm freer.” A small pause, as Crowley closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Then he looked back at Aziraphale, without a trace of sadness or regret in his eyes. “Besides, it allowed me to get to know you. I would Fall a billion times if every time I had the chance to admire you, even if it’s just for a moment.”

Aziraphale let out a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Oh, what are you saying?”

“No, no. Aziraphale, I mean it.” Crowley straightened up a little more and reached out so that he could take both of Aziraphale's hands, wanting to show all his love with looks and caresses. “You said earlier that... that meeting me was the best thing that ever happened to you.” A tremble, a blush. It was still hard for him, but Crowley believed it. “Well, you literally  _ saved _ me, my love. With all your kindness and your gentleness and your dearness. You gave me what I thought I'd lost forever: love. And I'm not talking about these last few hours. I'm talking about six thousand years. I would never have survived if you hadn't been here, with me. And I will be eternally grateful for that, my angel.”

At this point, Aziraphale was a mess of tears and uncontained sobs. “But... Crowley... I didn't... how can you say that when I... rejected you and treated you so badly? I should have been better...”

“Okay, I'm going to stop you right there," Crowley interrupted, taking Aziraphale's face in his hands gently. “I've said it before, but I don't think I made it clear enough: There is nothing, not one single thing, that you have ever done wrong in your life. Including me.”

“But...”

“No buts," Crowley said firmly, then softened his voice. “Aziraphale, I would never blame you for wanting us to be safe or for always being loyal to Heaven. You simply did what you believed was right. And it was the right thing to do. You didn't fail, you didn't betray them. They did, they failed you and they betrayed you.”

Aziraphale sobbed even louder, but it was a liberating, cathartic cry, overflowing with millennia of anxiety and self-recrimination. Crowley took him in his arms and held him, letting Aziraphale lean against him, letting him know that, from now on, he would never be betrayed again.

Eventually, Aziraphale slowly regained control, but he didn't stop sinking into Crowley's embrace.

“And I want you to know," Crowley continued, after a few minutes, "that you were always there when it really mattered, that I know you cared about me in any way you could, that you always supported me and listened to me and were my friend in every way that was possible for you.” Crowley pulled away a little, just enough so that he could look at Aziraphale's face and kiss it, kiss his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose, his lips. “You don’t have to be better, because you're already perfect. You always have been.”

“I love you," said Aziraphale, the soft flower in his chest swinging gently.

"I love you too," Crowley replied.

The atmosphere was pleasant, the bustle of the city could be heard in the distance, the sheets were soft and the midday rays were streaming through the window. It felt good, it felt right. For the first time in their lives, Crowley and Aziraphale felt like they were where they were always meant to be. A home, a place where they belonged. And it was there, in each other's arms.

* * *

_ Excerpt from messages sent by Anathema, which Crowley didn't see until much later as his phone had been left on the floor of the bookstore, along with his jacket. _

>Hey! I'm glad you're back. You really worked it out, huh?

>I told you my man was a genius haha.

>So... how are things going with Az?

_ -Half an hour later- _

>Crowley! The books are gone!

>What the hell did you do?

>Please tell me I don't have to worry.

>…

>Hello?

>Answereeeeeer meeeeeee

>Seriously, I'm panicking here...

>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

>I'm going to send cat stickers until you reply...

* * *

Because God works in mysterious ways,

but there are some things that are just ineffable.

And maybe they just need a little push in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't belive that the silly idea shamelessly stolen from that classic tale ended up in a mildly existencial, 23k words long, smutty final fic haha  
> Also, this is my first time writing something this long and writing sexy things. Please let me know what do you think!
> 
> Finally, just want to say thanks to the wonderful Yvesriba for helping me through this. You're amazing!  
> And many, many thanks to you, for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! Love u all 🧡


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